Mirror Image
by Evil Asian Genius
Summary: Hisoka learns something about himself that he never wanted to know, and the consequences hunt him down. Spoilers through the Gensoukai Arc. COMPLETE
1. Chapter 1

Title: Mirror Image  
Summary: Hisoka learns something about himself that he never wanted to know. Spoilers through the Gensoukai Arc.

For Jekka and Kizu. Thanks to RubyD and Falstaff for prereading.

_Didn't like confronting (the Muraki in you)_  
_Was afraid of fighting (the Muraki in you)_  
_Knowing I would lose (to the Muraki in you)_  
-King of Swords, Chapter 6.

"Tsuzuki." Dazed. Hisoka clutched at the side of his head, as sharp bursts of remnant pain throbbed through his skull. "Where is Tsuzuki?" The first words he had spoken in a long time. Hours? Days?

For a moment, he didn't know where he was.

"Shhh." Gently, gently. "It's all right. Tsuzuki's just resting." A blatant lie, but it was impossible to explain otherwise. There was just a deep sadness, the memory of pain in Tsuzuki's eyes. It took Hisoka a second to realize that those weren't his thoughts and feelings.

"Hmm. He woke up. I'll go tell the chief." A gruff and brisk voice: that was Terazuma. "You'll be okay in here, all right?" It was a command more than it was a question or suggestion.

"What…what happened?" But even as Hisoka spoke, his eyes widened as he remembered. There was a sting on the right side of his face, and he clutched at his sweat-matted hair as if one pain would dull the other.

Kurikara. Gensoukai. The other world where he had fought the high-level shikigami to a draw. He had won by a hair's breath - somehow, some way – with a hidden reserve that he hadn't known was in him. At least, that's what it seemed had happened in the battle. There, time appeared to dilate, ten thousand years in the span of a second. The memories folded into themselves until nothing was left but a crush of twisted time and faded sensation.

But there was the contract. Because a shikigami like that was never merely defeated.

"My eye!" With a gasp, he sat up and was off the infirmary bed, scrambling over the tossed and turned bedding, knocking over surgery carts speckled with blood.

"Wait, Hisoka!"

But before she could catch up to him, he was already in front of the mirror.

"Wakaba…chan." He stared at the ruin where his right eye had been. He had been expecting a gaping hole, or perhaps at least his normal eye, having miraculously healed in the manner of all Shinigami. But instead, there was a prosthetic. He knew it couldn't be real. It was a paler green than his real eyes. The difference was almost imperceptible, but he knew exactly how green it should be. The pupil responded like a normal eye, but it tracked just a little slower than normal. And it didn't tremble at all, holding unnaturally still in his head.

"Y-You can see fine, right? Right?" Wakaba was trying to be cheerful yet she wavered on panic; he scared her like this. She took a deep breath and tried again; she was forcing herself calm. "Hisoka…you should have waited for Watari. He worked very hard to make you an eye that works right. It should have come back…b-but it must have been something that happened in Gensoukai. I've heard about things like this before, Hisoka, so don't be scared. We'll find out what happened and maybe it can be…"

As she spoke, the words became nonsensical to him, turning into a tonal drone in his ears. Suddenly, it was too much to take in all at once and Hisoka crumpled to the ground, knocking his knees against the cold tile floor.

"Hisoka!"

All around him, silver surgical tools were scattered like shattered ice amid discarded blossoms of blood.

"I'm all right…" A gasp. Everything was coming back all at once. His insistence on surpassing Tsuzuki. His fights with Tsuzuki. The pursuit of power that had endangered everything around him. And yet he didn't stop there. He didn't turn back, he didn't question it, he didn't think. It was a pursuit that he could not deviate from until he had attained his goal, even long after he had forgotten why he was there in the first place.

"Shhhh." Wakaba's fingers brushed his cheek and her mismatched eyes came into focus, bright with unshed tears. "It's okay, Hisoka. If you don't like it…you can just cover it up. See?" She brought up a brush and her fingers deftly untangled the straggled mess of his hair, gently changing its part.

Wheat-blond hair slipped into a veil before the right side of his face, concealing the disfiguration.

"Look. You can't even tell the difference." Her voice quavered with barely suppressed grief.

"No…difference at all." Hisoka's shaking hands were stained with blood. And if he looked in the mirror…he would see Muraki again.


	2. Chapter 2

In the ruins of his eye, the sky faded between blue and gray. Hisoka walked the penitent's walk, the voice of his shikigami fading like so much bravado, falling into memory.

High in the sky, clouds drifted at different speeds, and he thought for a second that he could see the paper-white wings of a fuda bird, a messenger spying. But if it was there, it was caught up in the wind and gone by the time his eyes focused.

He kicked a stone. It bounced over the ridge and fell, cracking.

If this had been anywhere other than Meifu, he wondered if these empty hills would have been dotted with houses. It was pretty enough, long green grasses swirling in the wind like smoke, overlooking an iron-gray bay. A window to the ocean. Islands beyond, tall rocks jutting out from the sea.

He wasn't sure where he was anymore. All he remembered was running. For a long time. Until he woke up here, walking along the crest of a hill.

It seemed so far away.

He was tired. He sat down in the grass and picked up a stone. It was rusted red, the color of dried blood.

----

"Quiet, quiet!" Tatsumi snapped, voice verging on a shout amid the hysteria. "All we know is that he's still in Meifu, but that he's gone past our jurisdiction."

"What's that mean?" Wakaba gasped. Her fingers were tangled in ends of her skirt, twisting the dark fabric nervously.

"It means that bringing Kurosaki-kun back is beyond our immediate control. The best we can do is request his return. But if he doesn't come back within three days…"

"Three days?"

"Then it moves up to Enma's office, and he can move to officially request assistance from wherever Kurosaki-kun's run off to, or…" Tatsumi grimaced. "Well, we haven't gotten that far yet. The important thing is to keep sending ofuda messengers to try to pin him down. All he has to do is respond once, and we'll get more time."

"But Tatsumi, everyone's been sending them. Everyone!" Wakaba sighed. "Even the Hokkaido branch! But no one can get through."

"Didn't know the kid could generate a shield that powerful." Terazuma mused.

"It's not completely him. It's his shikigami." Tsuzuki stumbled in, leaning against the doorway. He looked haggard, as if he hadn't slept for days, pale and wan. The room fell quiet.

"Good for you to join the living. Dead." Terazuma twisted in his seat, craning his neck to get a look at Tsuzuki.

Tsuzuki ignored him. "It's…his shikigami. In Gensoukai, he'd go into battle without armor. Here…it translates to perfect shielding, which I think Hisoka wouldn't know was there. He'd have to think hard to take it down, because it's just a natural state of being for Kurikara…"

"Do we know what kind of shikigami this…uh, what was the name again?" Watari scratched his head, dislodging the little owl nesting in it. He flipped open his laptop and began typing.

"Kurikara. And I don't think he's parasitic, but I don't think he's a summon either." Tsuzuki shrugged. "Maybe something else?"

"I don't see how that's possible."

"I don't either." Tsuzuki sighed, melting into a chair as Tatsumi shepherded him into it. "I really don't. I mean…I don't think anyone's ever had Kurikara as a shikigami before, ever."

Watari looked up from his laptop. "Well, records don't go that far back. We've lost a lot of stuff over the years to fires, earthquakes…well, you and Terazuma…"

"Hey-" But Wakaba shushed Terazuma before he could say anything more.

Watari suddenly sat back, pleased with himself. "According to the Mother database, if a shikigami's never been a shikigami for a Shinigami before, there's a chance that they haven't settled into a summon or a parasitic type yet. Most tend to be inclined one way or the other, but the more powerful a shikigami is, the harder it is to determine. So until they do, they kind of have characteristics of both. Or neither. It's not very clear…"

Tatsumi cleared his throat, before anyone could say much more. "All right. I think at this point, we'll just have to wait and see. There's not much else we can do, until we have more information from Kurosaki-kun." But he caught Tsuzuki's eye.

Tsuzuki nodded minutely as the meeting broke up.

----

After an eternity of watching people slowly filter out, Tatsumi locked the door and sat down beside Tsuzuki.

"Should we check Sato-san's house?" Tsuzuki draped himself desolately over the edge of the conference room table.

"I don't know if it's come to that yet, but I don't think it's a bad idea." Tatsumi sighed, sagging a little into his chair. "It's been so long…since someone. Well…" He shrugged.

"I don't want to think that Enma's sent him." Tsuzuki hugged himself, cheek pressed against the worn, polished wood. "I don't. I remember the last one…"

"Kurosaki-kun will be fine." Tatsumi said it as if he believed in it strongly, which only made things worse.

"I hope so." But Tsuzuki didn't seem sure. "Will you go check for me?"

"Of course."

----

His eyes closed, half-dozing, he could feel the shadows of grass as the wind rustled through them, swaying. The sunlit porch smooth under his back, hard and unyielding, smelling faintly like polish.

The shadows changed, and without looking up, he knew who it was. What it was.

He opened his hand, and something soft was pressed into his palm. He opened his eyes and exchanged a quick glance with Enma's messenger, seeing the familiar gaping black void that threatened to swallow all light around it, wrapped in ceremonial robes like an empty puppet.

It was gone in a moment, and Sato sat up.

In his hand was a length of black ribbon, stitched with a cold, silver-white thread.

He wrapped it around his left wrist, tucking the ends in, and went inside to change. A few days, maybe a week. He would have to lock the doors.

----

Once, a great many years ago, a young page had asked him why he did not hunt like his peers, the other great Shinigami of his day, men and women who sharpened their skills with horseback riding and archery, hunting at game that kept them fed through the bleak days of winter when even tea ran short and had to be rationed. And thoughtlessly, he replied that he did hunt, only infrequently.

"And why is that, Sato-san?"

"Because it's been ten years or more since a Shinigami ran away."

The boy had grown pale and scurried away. And for many years, no one spoke to him readily. So he grew secretive and over time, as people moved on and were replaced, it was forgotten.

He didn't though. He could feel the weight of the black ribbon, heavy and cold against his wrist like a band of metal. Even when it wasn't there.

Sato had been on many hunts before. No one in Meifu could even remember that there was another before him, who had moved on after Sato had barely opened his eyes in shade of the sakura. It was a job for which there was no training, no warning. And he didn't even know it was his, until the blood was already on his hands.

Start by finding a trace. He found his way into Hisoka's little apartment, tidy beyond reason, striped sheets and cheerful sunflowers lining the window.

He stood for a moment, tall and gangly in his old uniform, pleats still as neat as the day he received them, empty black space circled in white where a family crest would be. Shinigami. That part never changed, though he hadn't brought a demon to justice or a soul to trial in nearly a century.

There, a sliver of shadow under the collar of a neatly folded pajama top. He touched the flannel for a moment, before picking off the shadow, rubbing it between his fingers.

He clamped his hands around it, and flattened it, grinding it like dust between his palms. It disappeared, and he brought it up to his nose.

It was like a scent. He could feel that shadow moving now, some distance away. Stopping to rest. He closed his eyes and could feel other shadows moving around it, an impression of the dark movement of the sea.

No matter what kind of shielding a man had, it couldn't protect him against a kagetsukai.

Sato left out of the apartment the same way he came in.

----

Hisoka felt a strange shiver, and he stood. As if prying eyes were looking for him. But he was alone. Nervously, he glanced and as the world tracked slower in one eye around him, he realized for a moment that he was seeing double.

And then himself, through his lost eye.

Startled, he stumbled back, falling hard onto the soft loamy earth.

"Why are you so scared? It's like you've never seen me before." Kurikara looked like an illusion, a glimmering fetch that wavered in the air before him. Hisoka could see the flickering of the distant ocean through him. "Stop feeling sorry for yourself and get up. We have to go."

"W-why?" Hisoka sounded hoarse to his own ears. He felt hoarse. As if he could sleep for a decade and wake up and still be tired.

"Can't you tell? Someone's looking for you. Someone powerful." But Kurikara looked more annoyed than nervous. "And I don't recognize this place. Where are we?"

"I don't know." And Hisoka finally started to realize that even the plants here were different. The flowers were tiny and yellow.

"Well, we had better keep moving. Come on." Kurikara reached out and took his hand, and Hisoka gasped feeling the strength of his grip. And then he felt a long pull, as if the inside of his guts were attached to a string and tugged sharply.

He found himself somewhere else.

It was barely a cabin, but it had a well. Hisoka found the winch and drew water, drinking thirstily. Cold, with the barest metallic bite. He wiped his chin with his hand.

"Better back up a bit there, son." The voice was firm, but gentle. It took Hisoka a moment to realize that though he didn't understand the words, he understood the intent. He turned slowly, and backed up, hands held out to show that he was unarmed.

Frayed straw hat, a stubbly blond chin, and piercing blue-gray eyes. And strangely dressed, like a haphazard cowboy. "Last month, I clipped a demon with this six-shooter. Sent it packing. Don't know what it'd do to you, but I figure you probably don't want to find out."

Hisoka stared at him blankly, not understanding the strange jumble of words. "I-I'm sorry…I didn't mean to trespass." He said it slowly, hoping the man could hear the contrition in his voice.

"Foreigner. But you don't look so foreign…" The man frowned, and holstered his pistol. "Come here." He waved Hisoka over.

Hisoka took a few steps forward hesitantly.

The man caught Hisoka's hand, and in a quick movement, sliced open the tip of his index finger with a pocketknife, taking a few drops of blood and bringing it up to his lips, tasting it with his tongue. He spoke a phrase, dark and guttural, before smearing the blood over his mouth. It glowed for a moment before soaking in and disappearing. "There. Now we can speak."

Hisoka stumbled back, tripping over a coil of rough rope, before catching himself on the stone edge of the well. "Black magic…" He rubbed his fingers together as the cut closed up on itself, healing instantly.

"What of it?" The man stood back, folding his switchblade neatly and tucking into his shirt pocket. "It's an old spell. A little blood magic, nothing dangerous."

"But…but it's forbidden. I thought-"

"Are you new here? I mean…you know. To the Deadlands. Uh, Purgatory. The Afterlife. Whatever people're calling it these days."

"Huh?"

"When'd you die?"

"Oh." Hisoka flushed, startled by the man's directness. "Um, a few years ago…"

"You're far from home then, aren't you?" The man frowned. "You from another country?"

"I'm Kurosaki Hisoka, second division. Based out of Kyushu. Uh...of the Summons Division? In…Japan?" Hisoka found himself at a loss for words, trying to figure out how much this man would know.

"Well…you've come pretty far." The man looked impressed. "You're in California now." He laughed. "My name's James." He offered Hisoka his hand to shake. "I'm a ranger, second class. Which means I keep this area safe. About a thousand square acres, plus or minus, mostly back hills. There're a couple towns, though they ain't much to look at in the Deadlands. If we went to the real world now, there'd be something to see. But mainly rangers like me, we just do buffer work out in these back hills."

"What's that?"

"We take care of the stuff that's run out of the big cities. Lots of trade goes on, and sometimes demons get in. And sometimes a demon can give the grim reapers the slip, and off it goes, out for the wilderness. So rangers like me track it down and make sure it doesn't go further. Network stretches all over the country. We got jurisdiction over all this country, from sea to shining sea." James smiled brightly. "Come on in, I'll make you some supper and you can tell me how you got here."

Dazed, Hisoka followed the stranger into his cabin.

It was surprisingly tidy and amazingly modern, though he couldn't tell how any of it was powered. James even had a laptop computer, set up on a rough-hewn split-log table. He opened the little refrigerator and tossed Hisoka a chilly bottle. "Have a drink, I gotta do some paperwork real quick. Let the bosses know what's going on." Taking off his hat and hanging it up revealed a head of unruly blond hair.

"But I don't drink beer…"

"It's just cream soda." James sat down on a woven-bottomed chair, and started typing away. "Not much of a drinker myself. Had plenty of that before I died."

"Oh." Hisoka looked out the streaky glass-paneled windows. "When did you die?"

"'Bout a hundred-sixty some years now, I think. I started off up in Frisco, chasing big bad uglies. Guess this is something like a retirement job." He grinned, sharing the joke, as he didn't look much older than Hisoka himself. "It's pretty good. They bring me taters and beefsteaks, and whatever else I want to eat, and all I gotta do is a little hunting and paperwork. I'm pretty much done with cities. Lost too many damn partners."

"I'm sorry. Doesn't it get lonely out here?"

"No, not at all." James propped his feet up on his table while he typed on his laptop. "I get visitors a lot around here. There're some Indians, been here ages and ages, that come by once in a while to use the telephone." He winked. "So what brings you to this neck of the woods?"

"I…I don't know. Just traveling, I guess." Hisoka stared at the cold bottle in his hands. "I'm not sure…what I'm going to do."

"How come? You're a grim reaper yourself, aren't you? I mean, you got that look. The hunting look." James nodded.

"I don't know what you mean." Hisoka felt himself go red, that squirming sickening shame welling up in his stomach. The hunting look.

Broken glass prickled at the edge of his vision, and when he looked at his hand, it was shaking.

"Haven't you ever hunted a demon? Shot it so it's bleedin' its guts out all black and viscous? Mind you, I'm no expert, but I've done my duty to my country…" James babbled on, and for a moment, Hisoka saw nothing but blackness.

He found himself sitting on a rough bench, shoulders against the log wall while James rattled on about a hunt long lost to history.

He could feel Kurikara inside him, like a good meal gone bad, taking his guilt, taking his shame, and turning it into something else.

Something colder and less caring.

He gasped, sitting up straight. No…he couldn't let that happen. He couldn't….

James tossed him a bottle opener, which he barely managed to catch, the sharp edge nicking against his palm. "There, sorry I forgot about that. Now you can have that drink." He peered closely at Hisoka. "You all right? You're looking kind of pale."

"Yes…yes. I'm fine. I'll be fine. I just need a moment to rest..." Hisoka opened the bottle mindlessly, handing the opener back to James. "Do you mind if I sit outside in the sun for a while?" He felt so cold that his bones hurt. Whatever Kurikara was doing…

"Sure thing. I gotta do some work here anyway. Check the bulletins and such." James nodded, and turned to the computer while Hisoka made a hasty escape out the front door.

Sunlight streamed down, pouring like rain and he felt blind for a moment. His left hand was cold, so cold, and it took him a long moment to realize that he was still gripping the soda.

Hisoka took a long drag and sat down on a flat rock downhill from the cabin.

He sat there a long time, until in the distance, the slowly setting sun seemed almost…almost to dye the ocean a deep purple.

"Tsuzuki. I'm sorry. I didn't…didn't mean to-"

----

Tsuzuki stared at the bento that Wakaba had made for him. Tiny pink hotdog octopi swam in a sea of rice sprinkled with sesame seeds and wakame. There was even a palm tree made of tuna and spinach, and a carrot carved with the rays of the sun. It was adorable, and smelled delicious and…

He pushed it aside, wondering when Tatsumi would be back.

"Tsuzuki-san."

"Oh, thank goodness." Tsuzuki stood up, pushing the chair back. Tatsumi glanced briefly at the uneaten bento, but didn't comment.

"He's not there. I think Enma DaiOh must have…" Tatsumi's jaw grew tight.

Tsuzuki visibly slumped. "How do you follow Sato-san? He's a kagetsukai…"

"You don't. It's not really something that a normal Shinigami can do."

Tsuzuki sighed. "So…it's hopeless, isn't it?" Tears threatened the corners of his eyes.

"I said normal. I didn't say you." Tatsumi shook his head. "Don't be so quick to give up hope. I know you can find him."

"Maybe." Tsuzuki scowled, trying to puzzle it out.

"Well," Tatsumi pondered, arms folded. "I think it stands to reason that if you can't track Kurosaki-kun by the normal methods…"

"Then I should try something abnormal?"

"I wasn't going to say that. More like, unconventional." Tatsumi adjusted his glasses. "Tell me, what are the usual methods of tracking?"

Tsuzuki sighed, and began counting them out on his fingers. "Messenger ofuda birds, tracking shiki…wait. Tracking shikigami. That's it!" He perked up brightly. "How do you track a shikigami that doesn't want to be found? With another shikigami!" He laughed. "I'm brilliant!"

Tatsumi arched an eyebrow. "What's this mad scheme of yours?"

"Come by the field behind my house later, and I'll show you. Give me about…oh, four hours." Tsuzuki winked. "No, three and a half. I'll see you then!" Tsuzuki grabbed his coat, and sprinted for the door.

"Don't forget your bento." Tatsumi held it up.

"Oh, almost forgot!" Tsuzuki ran back in and grabbed it, gobbling it as he ran out the door, leaving Tatsumi with a smile on his lips.

----

Sato stood on the rocky beach, the sound of the waves rolling against the stones like a rushing thunder.

He sat down on a patch of sand to rest. He had never flown so far before, not in a long, long time.

Tall grasses rustled by the wind, and gulls wheeled above him.

He took a long shaky breath. Everything ached. He drank from a hollow water-filled gourd, and looked out at the sea, wondering if these waters too teemed with dragons.

He felt old. It had been more than a generation since he had to do this last. Drawing up his sleeve, he fingered the black ribbon. The weight of it made his wrist ache. He unwound it and looked at it for a moment, spinning in the breeze, a delicate thing, really. Forcing away the urge to toss it to the sea, he wound it back around his wrist, tucking the ends in neatly.

He sat for a while, watching the fog roll in, a bank of heavy gray that threatened to swallow up the sky.

It reminded him of the days before he had come to this. When everything seemed so new and wonderful, when the people he loved were still… Still alive.

Finally, Sato got up as the tide began to rise. He could feel the shadow he was seeking. It had stopped, somewhere nearby. A day's journey, maybe. He'd walk the rest of the way.

----

Bundled up in musty sleeping bag, Hisoka listened to the sound of the strange foreign shinigami's soft snoring. Coals burned in the stove, scattering a low, warm light in the room.

He laid back, head on a lumpy pillow. It had been a strange night. Half-way through a dinner of stew meat and beans, a band of elderly Indians (at least, that's what James called them) accompanied by a scattering of freckle-faced farm children and a few hippies showed up to use the telephone, just as James had predicted. Mainly to order pizza. Which they ate at the foot of James' hill in the flickering light of a campfire, before heading off to whatever a 'drum circle' was.

He hugged the covers close as somewhere nearby, something howled long and low.

"You aren't scared, are you?"

Hisoka startled, just as Kurikara pressed a nearly transparent finger to his lips. Hisoka could just barely feel it, could barely sense its reality.

"Shhh…" Kurikara crouched by Hisoka, bone-pale swords sheathed like two tusks on his back. "I just thought you could use the company. You can't sleep, can you?"

Hisoka shook his head. Kurikara dropped to his knees, looking at Hisoka with mismatched eyes. His eye…

Hisoka shivered a little.

Kurikara smiled faintly. "Don't you think the sacrifice was worth it? A high-class shikigami…the highest class shikigami."

"No…" But they both knew it was a lie.

"You can't stay here. Someone's looking for you. Someone powerful."

"Who is it?" A panicky jolt of energy went through him, curling up in his stomach. Was it Tsuzuki…?

"It's not Tsuzuki." Kurikara gave him a bored look. "I don't know who this one is. I've never seen him before. But his eyes are cold and pale, and he feels like death. Like…a shadow under a storm cloud."

"How do you know that?" Hisoka's eyes widened, and he wondered who it could be.

"Because my powers are your powers. And your powers…are mine too. I just have a greater range than you." Kurikara smirked at him. "Duh."

"What does that mean?" Hisoka could feel a bubbling of anger deep inside of him.

"You'll see…" Kurikara smirked, sitting back on his heels.

"You have to explain--" Hisoka began, and then suddenly shut his mouth as Kurikara disappeared and James sat up, his flannel pajamas wrinkled, rubbing his eyes as his cell phone beeped and beeped.

"Aw, hell." He looked at it with a yawn. "We got critters. A real bad one, just killed a maintenance guy at a local airport." He scratched himself somewhere impolite, and Hisoka looked away with a blush. "My jurisdiction this time; didn't even come out of the big city. Dang, and I was having the best dream."

"Do you have to hunt it then?" Hisoka fiddled with the zip on the bedroll.

"Sure do. Hey, you want to come along? Can always use an extra pair of eyes on a hunt." James got up, turning the light on. He dressed quick and efficient, back turned to Hisoka to give him a little privacy.

"Okay." Hisoka crawled out of bed, a glint of determination in his eye. If Kurikara wouldn't explain it, then he would at least try to find out what the shikigami meant.

"You know how to fire a gun?" James loaded his weapons, one at a time, a pair of pistols, a shotgun, and strapped a hunting knife to his belt.

"Yeah. I had lessons."

"Then here, take this." He pressed a well-oiled pistol into Hisoka's hand. It was heavy and cold, and the weight and smell of the dark magic was nearly enough to daze Hisoka. "Try that out. And just remember, don't nip nothing that ain't a demon, or there'll be hell to pay."

Hisoka turned the gun in his hands, and he could see the tiny etching of magic over the black metal, curving and sinuous, like a parasitic vine strangling a tree. He shivered, remembering the last time he had held a gun. Tsubaki-hime's eyes had been bright with pain. The ship had swayed under his feet, groaning as it-

"Uh…Do you have a holster I could use?"

"Here, take the spare. It's new, got it as a gift a couple years back, but I like my old ones."

And when Hisoka put it on, he was surprised that it wasn't that big. And only now did he realize that James was a small man, not much taller or heavier than he was.

"Come on." James tugged on a heavy canvas coat, and shouldered his shotgun. "If we wait too long, it'll cross county lines, and we'll miss our chance."

----

Cold moonlight lit the dirt paths over the hills, but there were many little valleys and hollows shaded with oak trees and bramble, so dark that it seemed that even shadows were swallowed away. They had flown part of the way to make up time, but they were close. Hisoka could smell the blood, and splatters of it sprinkled the dust here and there as they searched.

"Usually trackin's easier by daylight, but you know, no demon's much for daylight…" James chatted amiably. "Hey, mind if I ask a question?"

"No, I don't mind…" Hisoka closed his eyes, wishing the man could stay quiet for more than a minute so he could concentrate. He stretched out his senses, feeling for that black ravenous…

"Just wondering, why do you got them marks on you? Ain't never seen an unholy circle that big on a living thing."

"Wh-what?" Jolted out of his thoughts, Hisoka could just about feel his senses snap back like a broken rubber band.

"Well, see here, look." James rolled up his sleeve, and closed his eyes for a moment. A circle of spiraling red and strange characters about the size of a large coin appeared on his left forearm for a moment before disappearing. "Put this on myself, about two years into the hunting. Makes me invisible to stuff that can sense things. Demons, mostly, or sensitives. They can't see me coming. But yours is all over you."

"It was…it was from before I died." Hisoka shrugged. "I don't really…talk about it much." Quickly, he glanced up again at the moon, and felt a little tingling calmness go over him realizing that it was just as it should be, cool and white.

"Then I guess it don't mean that it's making you impervious to bullets then." James frowned, leaning against his shotgun. "But you should get it off. I'm no expert, but it could be leeching energy from you. If that's the way you died, that is. Don't mean to pry."

"It's not like I haven't tried." He could hear the bitterness in his voice, and he sighed. "So how do you…uh…'get it off?'" Hisoka glanced over.

"Kill the caster's one." James began ticking them off on his fingers. "That takes care of a lotta troubles, unless your life's tied to the caster's. Or die yourself. But I ain't never seen a circle pass on from life to here. Guess it must be unusual strong."

"Guess so." Hisoka scowled, kicking a rock until it clattered over the edge of a ravine. He could feel the anger prickling up inside of him, and he just wanted to slap this stupid, chattering monkey of a Shinigami…

"Well, maybe you could get a black goat kid with 'em twisty horns and- oh fuck it!" James suddenly dived into some thorny scrub as a black shadow winged up, and up…and…

Hisoka's jaw dropped as the demon blackened the night sky, blotting out the stars, the moon…

Its fangs dripped black, and he could feel the lives it had consumed, writhing inside it, souls damned to an eternity of torment.

The sound of a shotgun blasting close by, but the demon seemed only to reform around the wound, as though it meant nothing.

He could hear James calling him, telling him to run, to duck, cursing him…but the sound seemed to fade away as the demon loomed over him, drawing closer and closer, until he could feel cold dead blood spattering against his upturned face.

He could feel his hands move. The forms came to him as if breathing, and his lips…the invocation…

Kurikara coiled a brilliant red against the darkness, bone-white fangs tearing and gnashing at the demon. He could feel the blackness tattering, ripping; he could taste the acid blood…

"Envelop!" His voice seemed to come from so far away. And Kurikara coiled around the demon, crushing it…and then slowly began to eat it, swallowing it whole, the black poison of evil magic churning and churning, until it alchemized into something else, a pure white energy that flowed through the shikigami. It burned inside Hisoka, and he could feel himself screaming with the raw power of it.

And his fangs were Kurikara's, and his eyes flamed with an intense light and…

Hisoka blacked out.

-----

"Mphgh." Something cold and wet was brushing against his face, and he pushed at it. "Nnrgh, stop it, Tsuzuki…stupid…" Hisoka blinked his eyes open, realizing he was back in the cabin, and on James' simple cot, propped up on pillows.

"Holy shit. You uh, okay?" James patted his cheek with a wet handkerchief, wiping off the last traces of blood.

"Yeah…yeah." Hisoka sat up blearily. "What happened?" He rubbed his head. He felt strangely full, as if he had consumed a big dinner. A big crab dinner, shell and all. "Ugh…" He pressed his hand against his stomach.

"Uh, that dragon. That was your doing, wasn't it?" James looked worried, fingering his gun. "Because I don't think I could fight something like that if it wanted a piece of me…"

"Oh, that? Yeah. Kurikara. My shikigami." Hisoka yawned, and rubbed his jaw. It felt sore. "He's not dangerous." But just then he remembered the electric thrill of the power flowing through him, the way he had loomed over the demon and felt how insignificant it was compared to Kurikara's awesome power...

And the way his heart pounded when he realized that it was beyond his control, that once he had summoned Kurikara, once he had given him the command, Kurikara's will had subsumed his for a brief instant, writhing out of his grasp like angry cat.

An instant long enough to devour a demon whole.

Hisoka could feel his hands trembling.

"Well, he sure ripped the ever-loving shit out of that demon. I wouldn't say that's not dangerous." James looked awed, humbled. He tucked Hisoka in nervously. "Um…I sorta picked you up and took you back. Sorry. I mean, if it wasn't what you wanted…" He backed away minutely.

"No, no. It's all right. I'm okay. Thanks…" Hisoka smiled weakly. "I appreciate it."

"Uh…er…well… I had best fill my report, before I get cited for uh…dereliction or something…" James scuttled over to his computer, focusing his attention on it.

The cabin grew quiet but for the slow sound of the keyboard as James laboriously typed up his report.

It took a while for Hisoka to realize how empty it was without the other Shinigami's chatter.

* * *

Notes: Thanks to RubyD and Jekka for help, beta-reading, fact-checking…everything, really. Sato can also be seen in The First Death. But he's a little different here.


	3. Chapter 3

Tatsumi checked his watch. He was five minutes early, which meant he was a little late. Frowning, he made his way behind Tsuzuki's house, to the big empty field which had once, in years past, been a pretty decent restaurant that Tsuzuki and Terazuma had destroyed in a drunken after-work battle royale.

In the distance, Tsuzuki sat in the tall grass with his legs crossed, fingers going through the complex motions of summons. Tatsumi's breath caught; he had never seen Tsuzuki form a summons so complex, so long…had he really been at it for the entire time that he had asked for? Tatsumi stood away, giving him plenty of room to work.

Finally, Tsuzuki called out a long sharp phrase, and the air shimmered before them.

Lightning cracked the sky, splitting it, and a maelstrom of black wind twisted down from the torn sky.

Tatsumi stumbled back in awe as a giant palace…mansion…no…house…no…hut suddenly tumbled down from the heavens and plopped itself before Tsuzuki.

Tsuzuki laughed and stumbled onto his feet, suddenly embracing this strange and unwieldy little shack with his arms stretched wide.

"Tenkuu!" Tsuzuki plopped a kiss against the wooden door. "I haven't seen you in forever! Oh, I missed you…"

"Tenkuu?" Tatsumi jogged up to the little shack. "I thought it was bigger…"

"Oh, he's scaled himself down to keep from smashing the entire neighborhood." Tsuzuki grinned. "Though I think he went too far down…I've never seen him this tiny before." He gave the door another smacking kiss. "You're so thoughtful, Tenkuu."

"Did it really take three and a half hours to summon him?" Tatsumi stared incredulously, touching the shack as if to see if it really existed. It felt like wood, but suddenly he realized what made it so strange; it cast no shadow.

"Well, about two. I took a nap. Also, I had to get something else to eat, because this kind of summon can't be done on an empty stomach." Tsuzuki smiled. "Come on. Let's go. Hisoka needs us."

"Wait…" Tatsumi smiled gently. "Hisoka needs you. I don't think-"

"Tatsumi." Tsuzuki took his hand, meeting his eyes. "You're right. Hisoka needs me. But I need you. I need your help. I can't do this alone. Please?" Meltingly. Plaintively.

Tatsumi sighed. It was impossible to say no when Tsuzuki looked at him like this. But there was also the matter of duty. "I don't know, Tsuzuki. I could stay and try to plead with Enma for Kurosaki-kun. Buy you time…"

"Tatsumi. You know. What happened…the last time Sato-san was sent to bring back a Shinigami." Tsuzuki's face had grown pale, and his trembling fingers felt like ice. "Remember? There…wasn't enough to bring back in a bag…"

"Tsuzuki…"

"No, listen to me, Tatsumi. You know a kagetsukai can get anyone with a shikigami, because summoning them takes too long. And I can't just have Touda or Suzaku following me around out there. The energy drain would be too much. I'm just saying…please…you're the only one in Meifu who can fight him."

"I can't, Tsuzuki. I can't…" Tatsumi shuddered. "He was my teacher. And…a friend."

"So don't fight him. But at least. At least try to slow him down a little. Before…before we lose Hisoka." Tsuzuki's voice cracked.

They stood there for a long moment, and Tatsumi looked at him, giving his hand a squeeze. Tsuzuki smiled at him faintly.

"Let's go."

"All right!" The door slid open soundlessly, and Tsuzuki stepped in, drawing Tatsumi along with him.

----

As they went quickly down the halls that branched out to infinity inside Tenkuu, Tatsumi caught glimpses of doors, of decorations. A glazed ceramic pot speckled with brown and black like a bird's egg, a branch of cherry flowers cut from a tree and set in water, a discreet wall scroll with an elegant line of flowing calligraphy celebrating the illusionary nature of the moon upon a mirror of water.

"Do you know where we're going?" Tatsumi felt nervous, fumbling around the insides of a powerful shikigami. "Does Tenkuu?"

"Tenkuu holds everything inside him. And outside. Worlds, dimensions...heaven, hell…" Tsuzuki grinned madly as they nearly sprinted along the vast corridors, their shoes echoing on the polished wood.

"How do you know which way to go?"

Tsuzuki tapped his chest. "Whatever I want to find, Tenkuu knows. And he'll guide me to the right door…it'll feel right. Right…right here." They skidded to a stop.

"Are you sure?" Tatsumi felt his stomach churn, imagining the possibilities of ending up somewhere awful.

"Sure as…sureness!" Tsuzuki's hand paused before the door, and he took a deep breath. "Thank you, Tenkuu-ojisama. Be sure to tell everyone hi for me." He slid the wooden panel back.

Tatsumi felt a rush of wind, the scent of the ocean…and suddenly they weren't in Tenkuu anymore.

----

It took them a little while to get their bearings, stumbling around in the dark, crunching through dead leaves. Finally, Tsuzuki summoned a little ofuda light, a pale luminous orb that followed them around, illuminating the orchard around them.

Climbing up a steep embankment, they looked around. Fields as far as the eye could see in a little valley studded lightly with farm houses.

Suddenly, Tsuzuki whipped around, pointing toward the hills. "Tatsumi, look!"

For a moment it had seemed as though the crimson streak over the distant hills would blot out the pale moon, swallow it like a snake eating an egg. But then almost as quickly as it appeared, it was gone.

"I…oh…oh my goodness." Tatsumi blinked. "Do you think that was-?"

"Kurikara? I don't know." Tsuzuki stared thoughtfully, as though he could fix the image in his mind. "But I know how we can find out!"

"How?"

"Go up there, use some ofuda magic…trace any lingering energies to its source." Tsuzuki grinned. "Maybe…maybe it can lead us to Hisoka. It's worth a shot."

"Do you remember where it was?"

"Not exactly. But this will help." Tsuzuki brought out a crumpled ofuda, smoothing it out before whipping it into the air. "Take us to the strange magic!" The paper folded and unfolded itself, before becoming a bird, hovering in mid-air as if waiting impatiently for the Shinigami.

"Well?" Tsuzuki floated up alongside the bird. "What are we waiting for?"

Tatsumi nodded, and with a little jump, floated up toward Tsuzuki. "Let's go."

----

Kagome, kagome…

Dark pink petals scattered, mixed with pine needles caught in the wind. He opened his eyes to find himself facing Kurikara.

Kurikara's hand brushed his cheek, moving a lock of wheat-blond hair out of his eyes. "Hmm. It doesn't look so strange. You're so dramatic, Hisoka. The things you were thinking, I thought your face had turned into a mirror of hell…"

Hisoka slapped the hand aside. "What are you doing?"

"I'm just being honest." Kurikara looked at him sidelong, and Hisoka's vision doubled strangely, one eye seeing Kurikara, the other himself. "See? You don't look as bad as you think you do."

"Shut up!" Hisoka screwed his eyes shut for a moment to block out the vision, and then ran, leaving Kurikara far behind him.

A few steps later, everything around him changed, and Hisoka found he could open his eyes without seeing himself running away.

A garden, weeping willows, a scatter of pink petals. A stone path. A broken arch that was somehow repaired. His childhood home.

He didn't remember it like this, trees lush and green, throbbing with life, the water beneath the footbridge teeming with fish, gold and silver, white and red.

"What…what have you done?" Hisoka stumbled through the garden, cracked flagstones replaced with smooth, dying ivy giving way to jasmine, filling the air with a faint sweetness.

"I'm making it better." Kurikara sat on a stone bench, and as his hand smoothed over the rock, it became lustrous, glossy with care, as fine as a pedigree horse. The ravages of time reversed itself, and under his hand, Hisoka could see the edge of curling scrollwork reveal itself again.

"You can't…you can't do this! This is my mind! These are my memories!" Hisoka raved, and he could feel himself turn in his sleep somewhere far away, his hair ruffled by a strange breeze.

"I'm a part of you now. And I'm not letting you go another step like this."

"Like what?!"

"Like a cripple." Kurikara looked up at him with mismatched eyes. "Like a weakling. Like…"

The sky turned dark, and the moon glowed a crescent silver in the sky. And then as he watched, the moon changed, fattening to a crimson yolk that hung bloated in the sky.

Kurikara caught the shred of a cherry blossom in his fingertips as it floated by and he curled the little shard between his fingers before letting it fall. "Like the dream you have almost every night."

"No…no…! You…you stay away from my memories!"

Muraki's unnatural eye glowed a ghastly blue, floating over him like a neon firefly.

Any moment, the pain would begin again, and-

"No!" Hisoka startled awake so violently that he flung himself out of the narrow bed.

"Holy shit!" A second later, James hit the floor hard, falling out of his chair. "For the love of- what's going on…is something wrong?" He rubbed at his eyes, startled out of deep sleep.

"No…no. Sorry. Just…a bad dream." Hisoka straightened himself up sheepishly, embarrassed.

"Oh…is that it…" James winced, rubbing his hip.

"Are you okay?"

"Course I'm fine." James stood up, dusting himself off, careful not to stare too much. "Uh, guess it must have been a hell of a nightmare."

"Yeah. I guess so."

"Well, I'd have nightmares just as bad if I could call up uh, big ol' flying snakey things too." James nodded. "No disrespect meant, but I'm just saying, it's not natural. Never seen anything like that before, 'less you count that year I got sent out east for a spell and saw them thunderbirds…"

"James uh-san… If you don't mind." Hisoka rubbed at his head. The last thing he needed was another rambling story at whatever o' clock it was.

"No, not at all…" James replied quickly. Too quickly. "Uh, you want some breakfast? Bout sunrise anyhow, and I don't think I'm gonna…well, maybe I'll catch a nap later…"

"Sure." Hisoka wasn't hungry though, but anything to keep the foreign Shinigami busy and not filling the air with useless chatter.

Like Tsuzuki. It left an aching, stinging guilt in the pit of his stomach.

Hisoka sighed and sat back down on the cot, watching James fumble his way through eggs and pancakes.

----

Tatsumi stood on guard, feeling the shadows of trees, grasses, and scrub shiver in the wind as Tsuzuki walked around the grid he cast. Absently, he listened to Tsuzuki list the trace energies he could follow, Hisoka's, the demon's, the shikigami's…

And remembered how a long time ago, as a new Shinigami, he had been drawn aside while others studied ofuda magic, separated from the others like wheat from chaff. Taken by Konoe to Sato's house, to train in the art of shadow magic…

"Tatsumi!"

"What?"

"Are you listening?"

"Yes, sorry. I was just thinking. Did Sato leave any traces here?"

"No." They both sighed in relief.

"I think I figured it out. See? Only one set of footprints leave the site, and they're not Hisoka's."

"Boots?" Tatsumi stepped closer, tracing the imprint with his senses, feeling the way the shadow settled in the footprint.

"I guess…whoever it was, carried Hisoka away."

"An enemy, perhaps?"

"No, I don't think so. I don't get that feeling from this." Tsuzuki scratched his head. "But at least we'll know where to go now." Tsuzuki twisted the ofuda in his hand, and the grid twisted to the north, Hisoka's energy signature floating above the air like a pale green mist.

Tatsumi nodded, and began following the faint glow. They walked in silence, Tsuzuki turning and shifting the ofuda grid here and there as the trail wound its way through the hills.


	4. Chapter 4

"Sensei." Tatsumi bowed low, respectful.

"Sato is fine." Sato's eyes were cold, a pale blue-gray, devoid of expression. "You're the new kagetsukai."

"Yes, sir." Tatsumi bowed again, gracious, but watching Sato carefully with a sly eye.

"Show me what you can do." Sato stood back, giving Tatsumi room.

Tatsumi looked around. The house was bare, almost devoid of decoration. Nothing to tell him about the man. But there, at the edge of a door, was a small squat pot. It was unimportant, uninteresting. Ugly, even. So he reached his hand out to it, drawing it toward him by its shadow.

It wobbled in mid-air heroically, and then his control faded as he felt himself at the edge of his endurance. He could feel the little snap of lost energy as the shadows slipped.

Before he could move to try to catch it, Sato gestured quickly, and the pot lowered itself to the floor carefully. He walked over and picked it up, fingers running over the rim of the pot gently, thoughtfully.

"Be careful next time." Sato snapped, and he walked out, leaving Tatsumi standing, wondering what to do.

It set the tone for his studies, isolated from his peers, trapped with a madman of a former Shinigami that hadn't been trusted to have a partner or solve a case in years.

----

Tatsumi sighed. He missed the easy camaraderie of the new Shinigami quarters, a bedraggled block of housing for people whose powers were not yet fully under control. He had resented the noise and mess, but it seemed like such a nice memory, so pleasing and far away, compared to where he was now.

Though he had always wanted to live in a big, beautiful traditional house, this was nothing like it. Cobweb-riddled and dusty, empty of furnishings; it was atrocious. Some nights he woke up thinking he was some sort of fiendish medieval ghost, doomed to residence in a cold, crumbling building.

"You're not concentrating." Sato's head tilted faintly, and the stone snapped out of Tatsumi's grip, landing in Sato's outstretched hand with a soft slap.

"I'm sorry…" Tatsumi fumbled, trying to get his mind back in order, but all he could think of was how much he wanted a hot cup of tea and something to eat. He straightened his back with a wince, tired from hours of training.

Sato watched him with calculation, his thumb moving over the smooth river stone, and he snapped it back toward Tatsumi with a sharp motion of his wrist.

Surprised, Tatsumi jerked up his hands up in anticipation but the shadow was so small, so hard to catch that the stone struck him, cracking against the edge of his jaw. He cried out in pain before he could stop himself.

"Are you all right?"

"No! Do I look all right to you?!" One hand pressed against the wound, blood trickling through his fingers, down his wrist, staining the sleeve of his rice-colored haori.

Sato looked startled and began walking toward him.

Tatsumi gestured sharply with his other hand, as if to push him away. "Leave me alone!"

"Seiichirou…"

Tatsumi shook with anger, with frustration, with pain. "Stop calling me that! We are not friends! You don't know me well enough to call me that!" Tears welled up in his eyes, and for the first time in weeks he just couldn't hold it in anymore. The grueling training. The lack of basic social courtesies. The hunger, the cold, the loneliness of the big empty house…

Even as the pain began to dull, even as the blood was disappearing against his skin, a sob broke through his lips. "You're not even a decent teacher, you…you crazy old monster!"

"What's wrong?" Sato looked confused and stepped forward, into the sharp shadow cast by a long beam.

Before he even realized what he did, Tatsumi whipped his hand around, and the long, deep shadow dug into Sato's legs, slamming him away. He landed several yards away in the courtyard, tumbling over rough stones.

Tatsumi gasped, shocked at himself. Wiping impatiently at his eyes, he ran up to Sato. "Sensei! I'm so sorry! Are you all right?"

Sato blinked and sat up slowly, dusting himself off with bruised and lacerated hands. "You don't need to call me that." He stood up, meeting Tatsumi's eyes with an unreadable expression.

"Sato…"

Sato reached out and brushed away a lingering tear. "Please don't do that anymore. I don't like it."

"I'm so sorry, Sato. I didn't mean to knock you away…"

"No, I meant this." He held up the tear, showing it to Tatsumi before flicking it away with a twist of his wrist. "Come." He turned and began walking out to the street.

----

"What do you want me to do with you?"

"Excuse me?" Tatsumi scowled, annoyed at the way Sato never came out and said anything directly.

Sato shook his head and paused for a long moment. "What I meant was: what should I call you?"

"Tatsumi-kun, I suppose."

"Is…just Tatsumi all right? The honorifics, I get them confused." Sato shrugged awkwardly, and it made Tatsumi realize that for his height, Sato wasn't so much a foreboding, looming presence as he was a gangly, uncomfortable man who kept his movements close and short to hide any clumsiness.

"Yes, that's fine." Tatsumi walked along beside him, daring a glance at Sato's face. Sato looked unsettled, and his lips moved as though he wanted to say something but could not form the words.

"I'm sorry. I…I'm not very good at…words, people." Sato gestured absently. "I learned very late. Too late. And…I don't train enough."

Tatsumi laughed weakly. "You don't train enough? I'm almost dead from your training. If you worked on your language skills as hard as you're pushing me, you'd be good enough to write novels in two months."

Sato gave him a strange look, as if he wasn't sure if Tatsumi was mocking him. "No teacher. Not in a long time," he shrugged. "I'm not training you that hard. You just don't understand."

"I really don't think-" Tatsumi began, frustrated.

Sato shook his head. "No, I said it wrong. You understand. I didn't." He stopped at a tree, beside the stream that roamed parallel to the empty street. "Look." He gestured, and a leaf twisted down off a branch. He caught it in his fingers. "Here. This is what I can control." He pointed, gesturing first at the small, flat shadow underneath the leaf, and then at the edge, where a faint outline of shadow curled along the serrated green.

"Or this." With a gesture, Sato moved a lock of hair out of Tatsumi's eyes. "But not much bigger. My teaching is wrong for you. Because you could move this whole tree if you wanted. Maybe even this stone. Both at once." He pointed at the immense flat rock in the shade of the tree that had been placed there generations ago, etched with a poem delighting in the charms of the cool stream in summer, the flowing characters nearly worn away. "I didn't know until today, until you showed me."

"I didn't either." Tatsumi sat down on the stone, staring at his hands. "Is this common?"

"No. And I don't know if I can teach you anymore." Sato sat down, almost uncomfortably close, long legs folding against his chest. "Your power is much greater. You should go back to the..." He paused, searching for the words. "Central administration. No, it's Shokan now. They will find something right for you to do in Shokan. You won't have to waste time with me."

An hour before, Tatsumi would have jumped at the thought and cursed Sato soundly as he ran back to the main office. But the thought left him with a familiar, sad guilt in the pit of his stomach. "No, there are still things I can learn from you, Sen- er, Sato. Sato." He nodded. "And things you can learn from me."

Sato looked at him sidewise. "I can never learn how to move such big shadows. My power doesn't work like that. Not even when in danger." His lips quirked in a smile.

"I didn't mean that." Tatsumi met Sato's pale eyes. "I meant in words. And people." He smiled.

Sato looked at him before nodding, slow and serious. "I would like that."

"Say thank you, afterwards."

"Yes, thank you, Tatsumi."

----

As the training died down to a trickle of useful theory instead of mind-numbing repetition, Tatsumi began to realize things that he hadn't noticed in his haze of fatigue and resentment. The house became cleaner; it had been neglected because Sato had been spending every waking moment training him. Food got better; Sato even taught him how to fish with his powers, though he tended to drag up half the riverbed instead of single slippery eels.

Times when Sato was away, Tatsumi went exploring. He found a room with piles of documents addressed to Sato. The most recent missives stated such personal details about Tatsumi and his previous life that it made him blush to think Sato had been reading them. He was relieved when, with a little subtle questioning, it turned out that not only could Sato not read, he merely accepted the papers as a matter of rote, following just the basic verbal directive that he would train Tatsumi as quickly as was possible.

He learned that Sato had previously lived in Kyoto, before Edo became the capital, and that he had acted as a Shinigami before the modern divisions created by Enma, only to be retired when new standards were put into place and Sato was unable to keep up but unwilling to pass on.

He found out that the ugly pottery scattered through the empty house was made by one of Sato's original mentors, that a former partner had journals that Sato kept as safe as if they were religious icons, wrapped in silk and tucked into a cedar chest. Journals he had read one rainy afternoon while Sato went out to Shokan division for some unspecified meeting.

In a cramped hand, the writing had nearly smeared through the sheets of heavy paper, as though the author had wanted to conserve every square inch, reminding him how expensive it must have been in days past. It detailed mundane details, when it rained, when a festival was held in Meifu, when a Shinigami had passed on. But tucked away in this mess of ordinary life was also a wealth of information about Sato.

The journals were short, and he was a quick read. Tatsumi had replaced them very carefully, whisking traces of his own shadow away the way Sato taught him.

By the time Sato came back, dripping with rain, Tatsumi was already heating up water for tea.

"Sato? Is it all right if I asked you something?"

Sato shrugged. With observation and experience, Tatsumi had learned that this meant yes.

"I was wondering how you came to Meifu. How you died." As if he didn't already know that from the journals.

Sato shed some of his clothing, hanging the soaked garments up and sitting down beside the square hearth, stripped to the waist. "I was ill." He frowned, hand pressed against his abdomen as though he could still feel a phantom ache. "Something was wrong with my body. Something painful." He reached out his hands, warming them near the fire.

"That is…" He took a deep breath, trying to figure out how to get Sato to answer him. "What was it like for you? When you first came here?" Tatsumi fiddled with the boiling water, trying to draw out the talk, afraid Sato would suddenly lapse into silence without answering him.

Sato answered guilelessly, without the defensiveness that most Shinigami would have at such a breech of etiquette. "Everything before was very dark and quiet. Lots of things to touch. Then I woke here, and it was beautiful. Strange. Lots of things to see and hear, things that made touching better. And I could do this, this thing with my mouth. Talking." He laughed, a halting sound, as if he was unused to it. "Someone told me a long time ago what was wrong with me…let's see, three things. Blind. Deaf. Mute." He smiled at Tatsumi, after proudly ticking them off on his fingers. "What about you?"

Tatsumi winced. "You're not supposed to ask people that. Especially if they're new."

"Oh. Well, you asked me first…"

Tatsumi paused for a moment, trying to think up a response. "I was just curious how long you've been here. Since the house is very old," he added, quickly.

Sato nodded, as if it was an acceptable answer. "A long time. But not as long as the house, and definitely not as long as the house in Kyoto. Maybe if you asked the keepers of the books, they might know."

Abruptly, he changed the topic. "I have something from Shokan." He handed Tatsumi a bundle of papers wrapped in oiled paper to keep the rain out. "We have a training assignment. Sanya District, in Edo, near the Bridge of Tears over the Sumida River. We'll search within a half-mile." Sato sketched a circle with his finger, suggesting a circumference.

"An assignment? Is it an investigation? What will we do? Will it be difficult?" Tea forgotten, Tatsumi unwrapped the bundle, shuffling through the papers.

"Read the papers if you want to know. I would just go and see. Usually what's wrong will come out quickly, if you challenge it."

"That seems dangerous…" Tatsumi skimmed over the documents. "This sounds like they're talking about a demon." It didn't even seem real. Demons. Tatsumi shook his head.

Sato shrugged. "Sanya has many problems. There's always something to do in a place full of poverty and desperation."

"I don't think I've ever heard of this place…" Tatsumi racked his memory.

"Have you been to Edo, Tatsumi?"

"Not to a place called Sanya. And you should call it Tokyo. No one calls it Edo anymore."

Sato shrugged, which Tatsumi read this time as an expression of apathy. "Sanya is a bad place. Not on the maps. Every year, there are dozens of murders, many suicides, and every few years, summoned demons, soul-binding magic, curses, hexes…" Tatsumi was impressed by how easily the language of Shinigami work came to Sato. "Everything and then a few things that can't be expected. If it's a demon, it means Enma thinks you're strong." Sato smiled, proud and approving. "Worth keeping. Before everything changed, you wouldn't be a real Shinigami until you had killed a demon alone."

"What if you didn't?" Tatsumi shuddered, imagining what failure must have looked like.

"Then you weren't a Shinigami." Sato said, philosophically, twisting his long black hair, wringing water out. "You would move on and someone would take your place."

"That seems…unnecessarily cruel."

"Things were different." Sato frowned, trying to explain. "The spirits…people…they were strong. Very strong. Many pure bloodlines, miko families, children of gods and demons. But now it's different. More mixing when things changed, when many more people moved here and there." Sato looked aggravated as he stumbled over the words.

"No, Sato, I understand," Tatsumi said soothingly. "Modernization is changed the nature of Japan, I suppose?"

"Something like that." Sato stood up. "We can go now, if you want."

"You…uh, should put some clothes on, Sato. If we're going out." Tatsumi was careful not to look at his bare body directly.

"Oh, that. It'll just get wetter. It's raining in Chijou too." Sato gestured. "It won't take long. Maybe an hour."

"I thought investigations took days. Weeks."

"Investigations are long, but this is an extermination." Sato got up, walking into the next room. When he came back, he was carrying a pair of swords, one longer than the other.

"Here." Sato handed him the shorter one, tucking the katana into his obi.

"Sato, you know I can't…it's not right. The traditions-"

"Hmm? Oh. That doesn't matter. I don't have to wear both if I don't want to." Sato pressed the wakizashi into Tatsumi's hands. "Take this. You can't go unarmed into a demon fight."

"I don't know how to handle a sword…"

"Doesn't matter. Just wear it. If nothing, it'll keep humans from bothering you."

As he slid the short sword into his obi, Tatsumi felt a little shiver go through him, the way Sato said it.

----

Rain streaked his glasses. Tatsumi was breathing hard, pressed against the slatted wooden wall, hiding in the shadow of the building. Using his shadow, Tatsumi had managed to drag Sato into the shelter of an abandoned house, blood and soot streaking Sato's bare chest, obi charred where the electricity had left Sato's body through the steel of his sword.

The demon was much, much bigger than either of them had anticipated, hitting Sato with a jolt of lightning that Tatsumi would later swear had stopped the Shinigami's heart for a full minute.

"Sato! Sato! Wake up! Damn you…!" In desperation, he slapped Sato hard.

Sato suddenly caught a sharp breath, his first in what felt like an eternity, and his eyes opened wide, hand catching Tatsumi's wrist firmly before the next blow fell. "Thank you, Tatsumi." And just as quickly as his eyes opened, he let Tatsumi go and was back on his feet, a whirlwind of slicing shadows gathering around him like a swarm of black flies.

And he launched himself at the demon.

"Sato! Wait, you crazy-" Tatsumi tried to follow, tried to grab at the demon with long, dark poles of shadows. But it was so hard, and the rain made things indistinct. The edge of a building…the shadow of a broken shack, the body of a dead dog. He grabbed at shadows ruthlessly, pooling them, massing them, trying to create something big enough to strike the demon down…

And suddenly, as he ran down the street chasing after Sato, he managed it. His eyes narrowed as he concentrated, a sharp point of light glinting off his glasses. A dark viscous pool sucked and dragged at the demon so hard that for a moment, the demon seemed as if it would disappear altogether.

Then cold, soulless eyes turned to him. Tatsumi felt his heart skip a beat, a strange sick sensation growing in his stomach.

Lightning crackled around them, building into a charge that Tatsumi could feel in the air. Just like before it struck Sato, only this time it was much, much stronger.

Time slowed down. Sharp shards of wood dotted the demon's body in a formidable hail – Sato's work. But the demon barely noticed, so intent it was on Tatsumi.

"Run!" Sato's katana was out and he was heading toward the demon, pale eyes burning. "Tatsumi!"

He couldn't move. But he could drag the shadows to him. Form a shield…but what good was a shadow against electricity? He didn't know…perhaps Sato would. But there was no time to ask.

The demon's mouth opened, blood-streaked fangs black-crimson, and a crackling ball of lightning came flying at him. The air lit up, bright as a summer's day, and the shadows grew deeper. Darker.

Tatsumi just wanted to run away. But he couldn't. He couldn't even breathe.

A wild thought came to him as the electricity arced toward him. If only he could run away. If only he could disappear.

Sudden, sucking black, and everything was gone.

----

By the time Sato found him, it was hours later. It had taken half the staff in the Shokan division, an emergency meeting, and finally, a breakthrough from the library staff who found an obscure reference to kagetsukai powers in an old manual dating back four hundred years that had managed to escape a fire that had destroyed many important records centuries previous.

"Breathe slower. Slower than that." Firmly, Sato put his arm around Tatsumi and dragged him stumbling away from the peering eyes and prying hands of the Shokan division staff, taking him down the hall into an empty office, locking the door with an absent wave of his hand. "Shhh. Don't throw up." He guided Tatsumi down to a clean corner on the wooden floor, ignoring the high-backed western-style chairs.

Tatsumi swallowed hard, the nausea subsiding as he sat down on the hard floor, feeling his sense of balance stabilize as he leaned against the wall. He shook badly, clinging to his mentor. "I-I thought I was dead…I was trapped. I couldn't…couldn't get out."

Sato knelt beside him, patting his shoulder awkwardly, waiting for him to calm. Once Tatsumi gave a shuddery breath and relaxed minutely, Sato sat down beside him, seemingly all knees and elbows.

"It's a power. A strong power. No kagetsukai's been powerful enough to use it in centuries."

"So…I'm not dead."

"Of course you are. But not the final death." Sato caught his eye, expression serious. "And you won't. You're the second-most powerful Shinigami in a century. And the most powerful kagetsukai in living memory."

A chill passed through him. "Second-most? Who's the first?"

"A man named Asato. Uh, Tsuzuki. He helped the library staff find what was needed with a searching ofuda spell. And then I was able to send a shadow probe to find you." Sato patted him reassuringly. "If you ever get lost in the…shadow dimension…" he said it slowly and carefully, so as not to trip over the long syllables, "I'll be able to find you and help you get back. Quickly."

"So you can't go into that…place?" Tatsumi felt himself beginning to shiver again. That black formless void, with no gravity, no sense of direction, no point of reference…like being buried alive in nothingness.

"Not by myself. The most I can do is send you a little string, a thread to find you and guide you back."

"Thank you, Sato." And before he could stop himself, he hugged Sato tightly.

"It's all right." Sato was tense, bony shoulders pressed uncomfortably against him.

"Thank you, so much…you don't even know how much…"

Sato shook his head, pulling away sharply. "Nothing to thank me for. I should thank you. You saved us."

"But I ran away." Tatsumi looked away. "I didn't…didn't do my duty. I left you…" The guilt came back stronger than before, a festering old wound jarred to life.

"When you fight demons, Tatsumi, even if your duty is to win, your first duty is to survive to come home. No matter what." Sato gave him a dark look. "Never let anyone tell you different. There's no honor in passing onto the final death for no good reason."

"Yes, of course. No honor…no good reason." Tatsumi shivered hard, clenching his jaw to keep from crying. To keep from remembering. "Did-did the demon? Did you kill it?" He forced himself to think of something else. Something other than his mother's lifeless eyes…

"Yes, of course. You did well. When you distracted it, I was able to finish it off with the sword." Sato patted the pommel of his slightly charred sword.

Tatsumi took off his glasses, and pressed his fingers against his temples. "Sato. Did you know…I was safe?"

"Yes. I felt the shadows take you. I just didn't know where. I tried to look but-" Sato took him by the elbow. "Come on. You're tired, and they're coming to look for us. We should go now. You can talk later. Right now, you should rest."

"Rest. I feel like I could sleep for a thousand years." Tatsumi sighed. "With the light on."

"As long as you don't do it here." Sato gave him a ghost of a smile. "Let's go home."

They walked back together in the rain, sharing an oiled paper umbrella painted with long, slender bamboo leaves.


	5. Chapter 5

Somewhere beyond the hills, the sun was coming up. Hisoka shivered as he stood outside the little cabin, wondering where the dark sea that he saw yesterday went, lost in a distance blurred by fog.

He touched a branch; it snapped, brittle and dry under his fingers. This was an arid place. The hills seemed to stretch on forever, baked yellow and brown like loaves of hot bread.

Hisoka stopped by the well, drawing water. Averting his eyes from his reflection in the water, he scooped some out with his bare hand, drinking as chill water seeped through his fingers.

"It won't go away just because you want it to." Kurikara leaned against the well, a perfect mirror to Hisoka. Even his hand was curled before him, as if cupping a handful of water.

"You've got a lot of nerve. Maybe I should just dump you back into Gensoukai. You can go sleep in the desert for another thousand years, for all I care." Hisoka shook his hand dry, and Kurikara mimicked it, in a motion so perfect that it seemed to Hisoka that he really was looking into a mirror.

"I'm a part of you now, just as much as you're a part of me. And I know you wouldn't do that. Not after how hard you had to fight to get to where you are. Am I right? All those years…wasted years of being weak, and now you're the strong one. You're the one with the power. What do you say? I've been looking in your memories. Why don't we go back to Japan and show that man a lesson?"

"What man?" Hisoka felt a sickening shudder go through his stomach, knowing who Kurikara meant.

"That man. You know who I'm talking about." Kurikara leaned forward, and for a moment, all Hisoka saw was his own reflection, in the poisoned green pool of a single eye. "Muraki."

"Don't say it…"

"I'll find him. Rip out his eyes. Rip out his guts. Make him watch himself die. All for you. I could eat him, slowly, like a wasting disease…" Kurikara seemed to coil, his form shimmering as if smoke, half-way between dragon and boy. "I can make every minute of his death seem like a thousand years of torment. What do you think? Why don't we do it? It'll be great fun. I'll digest him so slowly that even after he's dead he'll be in pain. I'll dissolve his soul in my stomach, a slow death in a pit of acid. It'll be like he never even existed. And then you'll be happy."

"No." Hisoka shivered. "No, no…no!"

"Why not?" Kurikara looked at him gravely. "You hate him. So I hate him. And if you want him to die…then I want him to die too. He's caused you enough suffering. He's caused everyone suffering. Everyone you care about. Why don't I cause him some too?"

And he could feel the temptation, burning away like a hunger in his stomach, like a hollow place inside of him. Muraki groveling. Muraki screaming in pain as he did so many years ago…

"No. No. It's not right." Hisoka gasped, clutching his stomach. "It's not right…he doesn't deserve it."

"Of course it's right. He's hurt so many people. Why shouldn't you hurt him a little? Make him stop. Not just for your own sake…" Kurikara's arm closed around Hisoka's, drawing him close. Hisoka could feel the hunger now, as if the previous sensation was only a shadow of the real desire. Ravenous, throbbing…it was as if he had never known real hunger before.

Hisoka stumbled, knees slamming into the cracked dirt. Tears crept into his eyes; memory, pain, the urge for revenge…all of it spiraling into the shards of a mirror before him, showing him a face that he had never wanted to see again. That disgusting smirk he wanted to destroy, the one he wished he could erase from his memories. The flutter of a white coat that he wanted to rip, to stain and shred. And the sickening memories he was scarred with, a bullet through the heart of a beautiful girl, a fire that raged in his nightmares and took Tsuzuki with it…

And if he just let Kurikara, everything would be taken care of…

"Because…because…" Hisoka's mind reeled with it, wanting the revenge so much he could taste it, a bitter metallic taste in his mouth. He bent over, falling back on his heels, and the iron sky rolled up in his eyes. In the distance a white speck of a bird rose and rose until it seemed to touch the ground again.

The clouds broke. A breath; all he could see was white as the sun blazed through him, heating the core of desire inside of him, an inferno of torture.

But somewhere far away it seemed that footsteps approached, crunching through the dry leaves and grasses. Like a dream intruding on reality; little rhythmic snaps that slowly brought him back…back to-

"Because no one deserves that," said a familiar voice.

He knew it like he knew his own soul. And the crushing heat disappeared, replaced by a familiar warmth.

And suddenly Kurikara was gone and Hisoka felt his leaving like the audible crack of a whip.

"Tsuzuki?" Hisoka tottered up onto his feet.

"Yeah, it's me." Tsuzuki smiled gently, awkwardly, hands held out in a gesture of reconcilement. "I brought Tatsumi too. We thought…if it's okay…" He opened his arms. "If it's okay…We'd like you to come home. I…I'd like you to come home."

It was so rehearsed that it seemed like a set piece. Hisoka laughed wildly, leaning heavily against the rough stone of the well to catch his breath. "You two…you two are so ridiculous." As he caught his breath, he could feel himself shaking. They were in his way. They'd stop him. Tsuzuki knew about his conversation with Kurikara…Tsuzuki knew his next stop would be somewhere in Tokyo, watching Muraki's blood staining the grass…

Staining the pale pink petals.

Blood.

A crimson moon bloated in the empty indigo sky.

Hisoka teetered, threatening to tip over. He saw himself, first from a distance, a lonely figure on the crest of the hill before suddenly coming to himself, staring at his hands. Blood-splattered to the elbows, and in the wavering mirror of a pool of blood, a self-satisfied smirk across his lips as he watched it trickle over ivory skin, soaking into delicate strands of pale hair…

"No!" And the ground lurched with a sickening rumble, throwing Hisoka to his feet.

"Earthquake! Holy Earth Snake!" James scrambled out of the cabin, his hand clapped over the top of his head as though the tremors would knock the hat off his head, his other hand outstretched over the ground.

Trees shuddered, branches snapping as birds flew up in great clouds, as if the earth was shaking them loose from their hiding places.

"Earth Snake! Earth Snake!" Around them, faint cries in the distance grew clearer, as people began to run toward the commotion from over the hills. The ones that could walk had their arms stretched out to the ground, others pressed their hands into the dust.

"It's not natural…" Tatsumi stumbled, trying to keep his feet. "It's…"

The hills undulated like the back of a great serpent, the ground cracking open to reveal the faintest glimmer of brown-black scales edged with crimson, glowing like molten rock.

Hisoka could feel the little snap, like a joint cracking inside his chest, and suddenly things felt very far away.

His mouth opened, and blankly, lost of his own will, he felt himself speaking, his hands moving. By the time he realized what he was doing, he couldn't stop it anymore. As much as he tried, he couldn't take it back. The last words flew out of him in a torrent.

"Kurikara!" It was as much a denial as a summons.

The serpent hung in the air for a brief instant, before diving toward the earth.

A gleaming lidless eye, immense, ancient beyond the measure of man, peered through the cracks in the broken earth.

The sky turned black as the serpent neared the ground, whirlwinds of dust knocking people to the ground like tiny seeds caught in a downdraft.

Jaws, wider than a canyon. It seemed to phase through the hills, up onto the surface. Teeth glowed red with the fires of the earth.

"Kurikara!" Tsuzuki screamed. "No!"

-----

Braced for the impact that never came, James ventured a peek out from under the protective shade of his hat.

There, a stranger, eyes blue-cold with determination. His pale hand, ice carved, clamped onto Hisoka's shoulder, straightening his arm, pulling Hisoka's sleeve back to expose his wrist.

James could feel his magic sense burning; the glyph carved over his heart trembled with tension. Something was terribly wrong with the black ribbon he was tying around Hisoka's wrist. It pulsed with power, more power than he had seen concentrated in an object in his life. Something was terribly wrong about the way Hisoka didn't move, as if frozen into time, a scared, wild-eyed statue struggling to move his lips.

James didn't like what he saw, so he did what came natural.

Sato's eyes widened as the bullet flew at him, heavy with magic. Magic that he couldn't turn; magic that cast no tangible shadow.

His hand flew up; a pebble, that was his, and then suddenly a boulder came crashing ahead of him, exploding into fragments as the bullet tore through it. It missed him by a breath, clipping the sleeve of his haori. The threads exploded, catching fire and Sato tore it off, slicing through the sleeve with a shadow stolen from a strand of hair. The magic scorched its way through the rest of the sleeve as it fluttered down to the ground, before dying into a cold fire that disappeared into the air without leaving a trace.

A strange blue-black mark seared his forearm where the bullet had passed by it, fading slowly as he twisted around to where the bullet came from, hand outstretched. The man was not far; not far at all, and there were many things he could be stopped with. Splinters of wood of the house; a tin can of rusted nails, the shadow from a clump or grasses…

The gun came up again, ready to fire.

Sudden sucking blackness, and immediately he knew where he was.

"Tatsumi." Sato bowed, courtly and graceful, an acknowledgement and thanks all wrapped into one. It made no difference in the dark; but he thought Tatsumi would appreciate the gesture if he could see it. He had always been one for meaningless formalities.

"You're welcome." Tatsumi dusted himself off as if nothing was the matter.

"You know…that you can't keep me in here. Not forever. Not even for an hour." Sato was already probing the edges of the shadow dimension, trying to find his way back. It was just beyond his reach, but he could if he pushed. After all, he had found his way in once before.

"I know. I just want to talk for a minute. Is that all right?" But Tatsumi could feel the tiny strands of Sato's power probing, searching. He clenched his fist, tightening the shadows around them.

"Fine. Five minutes." His shadows kept moving, searching for a weak spot, and then suddenly stopped. "Tell me what you want."

"Kurosaki-kun isn't a danger anymore. You can release him now."

Sato reached out his hand, trying to find Tatsumi in the swallowing darkness. "You know I can't. This isn't a matter for you to decide, no matter what your standing is."

Tatsumi reached out, catching Sato's hand easily, feeling the swirl and eddy of Sato's shadow standing out in the dark. "I'm not asking as the department secretary, Sato. I'm asking as your friend."

"He's a danger to himself and others. If I hadn't been there…" Sato's hand gripped him firmly, fingers smooth, so unlike the samurai he was supposed to at least appear to be.

"We would have had an international incident. I know. As it stands, we're already looking at months, maybe years of negotiations with the Americans. But I don't want you to kill him."

"Do you think this is what I do, Tatsumi?" Sato suddenly sounded older, weary. "I wasn't going to kill him. I don't kill runaways. I only…I just hunt them and bring them home."

"Then what about the others? I saw…saw the parts of Kunieda-san that came home. So many years ago…And I heard-"

"You don't know." Sato's voice died to a low murmur, hand falling lax. "No one other than Enma…it's my own fault for not saying. But I never knew you would think that of me. I really thought you'd understand…"

"Saying what? Understand what?" Tatsumi frowned, annoyed at Sato's cryptic remarks.

"That it's their own powers that tear them apart. It's…what happens with a Shinigami can't control his shikigami. Or more rarely…when a shikigami has a piece of the Shinigami. A finger. An eye. A foot. Sometimes even an entire body. You don't know what they wanted me to do to Terazuma." Sato's voice sounded hollow, expressionless. "Before they realized the girl could control him, they wanted me to tie him down with shadows until they found a way to remove it from his body."

"Something like that could take years. A lifetime." Tatsumi shuddered, imagining being trapped inside of himself while Enma's creatures experimented with ways to pry the living shikigami out of him.

"I know." Sato sighed. His fingers tightened. "I have to take him back. The ribbon doesn't last forever. It can block his tie to the shikigami for only so long. And a strong one like this…I don't know if it'll last a day."

"If Kurosaki-kun could be persuaded to give up the shikigami…do you think he would return to normal?"

"Tatsumi." Sato's thumb stroked his wrist lightly. "Be reasonable. Would you give up your own powers?"

"That's different."

"Is it?" Thoughtfully, Sato drew closer, free hand dropping to rest on Tatsumi's shoulder. "Without power, a Shinigami doesn't last. Shinigami that can't fight aren't likely to stay. They pass on within five, ten years. It's only the powerful that survive. That rule hasn't changed in the centuries I've seen."

"It's not a rule. I've never heard of it." Tatsumi argued. "Even if it did, it was the ancient way, maybe hundreds of years ago, but certainly not now."

"Maybe not written or spoken. But it hasn't changed over the centuries. Just think about it-"

Sato stumbled back, blinded by harsh daylight. He blinked, eyes watering, hands pressed to shade his face. By the time his eyesight returned to normal, they were gone.

The boy, the two Shinigami…

All that was left was the strange pale-haired foreign Shinigami.

Sato rubbed his bare wrist, feeling the lingering ache. It was as though a weight had lifted from him, knowing that the boy was alive and out of his hands. Yet at the same time, a tremor of anxiety gnawed at his stomach. Tatsumi could be hurt. People in Meifu or Chijou might be harmed. To be safe, he had less than a day to track them down again.

A coughing, clearing of the throat. Sato blinked, thoughts clearing.

The foreign Shinigami shrugged and tipped his hat to Sato. He patted his gun, shrugged some more, and chattered strangely. A lot of shrugging and awkward gestures rounded out the one-sided conversation.

Some distant part of Sato's brain put the movements together in context and knew it for an apology. He bowed, slow and careful, to let the man know there was no bad blood between them; it was an accident.

After all, there was nothing to be angry about. No one was seriously killed.

Turning his gaze to the south, Sato reached out with his powers, and he could feel Tatsumi's shadow, blurred but steady, somewhere in the far distance. But before he could even take a step, it blinked away and then reappeared far away, so far he could barely feel it. Just as far as the boy's shadow had felt from Meifu.

So they were home already. He frowned, feeling the shadows one more time to be sure.

Home, but in Chijou.

Sato felt himself lift up, into the air, hurrying to catch them.

-----

Thanks to RubyD for the beta. Without her this story would make a lot less sense and be a lot more dull. Sorry I haven't been updating, but I'm planning to put out the next chapter soon (cross fingers). This story should be done in another chapter or two, hopefully.

If you're wondering how they got home so fast, Tenkuu was waiting to take them home. He's considerate like that. One casting = round trip airfare.


	6. Chapter 6

A sharp sound. Twinging snips. Little by little, and Hisoka could feel his body loosening. He could feel the little binding threads constricted tight around him, so tight that he couldn't even twitch a muscle without the cords cutting into him.

For a long moment, he thought he'd wake to feel the hot stickiness of blood on his skin. The burn of salty blood in his eyes. His own blood.

Tied to an upturned bed.

The smell of dry rot and decay all around.

The iron taste of the gun against his lips…

Hisoka gasped aloud. "Tsuzuki…" His eyes opened. Everything swam for a second as the mechanical eye adjusted, a fraction of a second behind his real eye. Everything was white tinged to cream. Stiff hotel sheets. A vase of dusty flowers that were made so imperfectly that they seemed almost real, daubed with droplets of plastic water.

"Shh, I'm here. A warm hand covered his. "Tatsumi's uh…cutting you loose. Just hold still, all right?" Tsuzuki smiled, a worried twist of his lips. "You're going to be all right."

"Almost done, Kurosaki-kun." Tatsumi's voice had a forced edge of cheerfulness. Sleeves rolled up to the elbows, he was picking over something along Hisoka's body, tiny filaments of black. Shadows.

Hisoka looked over them and thought perhaps if the lighting had been just right, they would have gleamed like long black threads of strong women's hair.

His eyes wandered to the black ribbon on his right wrist, and then there was a sudden, hard snap.

"Shit…" Tatsumi jerked back, lines of blood appearing on his face and bared forearms.

"Aa…aaaah…!" Hisoka felt his muscles cramping, seizing up, first starting with his legs and then migrating upwards. "Tsu…Tsuzuki…!"

"Shhh, shhh…" Tsuzuki turned him over, as his body spasmed with convulsions. "It's all right..." Strong hands kneaded him, his shoulders, his calves…wherever the muscles constricted, trying to loosen them. "Tatsumi…"

"It's just muscle cramps. They'll pass. He's just been bound for too long in the wrong position. Already tensed up and then-" Tatsumi looked away, ashamed at himself for making excuses for Sato. "I…I suppose I'll go find something for him. A sports drink. Potassium. Um." Tatsumi mumbled, trying to numb himself with the mundane. "I'll be back."

The door closed with a clean click.

Hands kneaded him. Tsuzuki's hands. If he wasn't in so much pain, it would have been so nice. Strong, warm hands moving over him. The gentle heat of Tsuzuki's body as he leaned over him like the heat of dappled sunlight on a lazy summer day. But…it seemed hollow, distant, even when Tsuzuki's hand slid under the collar of his shirt, trying to get a stiff muscle to unclench in his shoulder.

It was so clinical. So impersonal. Not what he had ever hoped for, even if he could admit those hopes to himself.

"Better?" Tsuzuki sat back, tired.

"Yeah." His throat was dry, and the sound came out like the scrape of dead leaves.

"Here, drink some water." The sound of a glass, liquid burble of water. It was a moment of sweet torture before Tsuzuki sat him up and cold water passed between his lips.

"Thank you." Hisoka melted against his arm, the tremors subsiding, leaving behind a long echo of the ache. He felt as though he had run a marathon through a searing desert. He drank thirstily, messily, water dribbling down the front of his shirt.

He drank until he couldn't drink anymore, and then he closed his eyes, feeling limp. Empty.

"Hisoka." Tsuzuki sighed. "You…" He fumbled for the words, mouth going still.

"Yeah. I know." His hand closed around Tsuzuki's fingers and he reached out, trying to find out what Tsuzuki was thinking. Just a little eavesdropping; just enough to let him know where he stood. Where they stood. Because he was afraid to look up and see the disgust and disappointment that he was sure would be there.

It took Hisoka a long moment, but he realized he couldn't feel anything. Other than his own body, his own breathing, the tidal rush of his own blood. He couldn't feel Tsuzuki. Couldn't sense the lives all around him. Even the rhythmic whirr of a nearby vacuum cleaner…

He always wanted to feel like this. This was how everyone lived. But it just made him feel lonely, empty, a distant star lost on the edge of a vibrant galaxy, drifting and forgotten.

"Know?" Tsuzuki teased him gently and there was a smile in that voice. "If there's anything I know it's that you're tired. Why don't you just rest a little? We'll talk later."

"I screwed up…" Hisoka began, and Tsuzuki just smiled and pressed a finger to his lips.

"Shh. We'll talk about it later." The bed tipped slightly as Tsuzuki got up to turn off the light, and the motion made him dizzy. A faint throbbing pain began creeping along the edges of his eyes, and he realized how tired he was.

How long the journey had been. Shards of broken memories filtering in.

The end of his fight with Kurikara. The Shikigami laughing as he hefted his blade over his head. The pact; two claw-like fingers dripping blood and his green eye caught between them, shiny and surreal. The pain had seemed so far away then. His eye; a marble, a toy carved from glass. Kurikara lifted it and for a moment Hisoka thought he would eat it. But then he put it in his own empty eye socket, the scar parting like velvet. A gem fitted into a foreign socket.

The rush of power as it consumed him whole, burning him inside out.

Hisoka's eyes were scared when he looked up again at Tsuzuki.

"Don't leave me." A throaty whisper. It sounded pathetic to his ears, and he was sure Tsuzuki would be ashamed of him. "Please don't…" Hisoka's hand reached out for him.

"You know I couldn't." Tsuzuki took his hand, sitting back down on the bed beside him. "I told you I'd protect you. And…I will. As well as I can. Promise." Tsuzuki smiled. It seemed to pierce his loneliness, the empty hole inside where his empathy had been. "Just get some sleep, okay?"

"Okay." And suddenly it seemed that things wouldn't be so bad, feeling Tsuzuki's breaths as they moved gently through the bed, the warm beat of his pulse beneath his fingers.

A new way of looking at things. In his sleep he dreamt he could feel Tsuzuki's feelings again, and they cocooned him in warmth.

*****

90 yen.

120 yen.

110…

Tatsumi's eyes blurred for a moment as he stared. He rubbed his eyes, exhausted. It was late, only a few hours to dawn, and he felt like he hadn't slept in days. Over and over, the same lines of drinks, backlit and glowing softly, little magic potions trapped in plastic cases.

Suddenly, a drink dispensed itself, clunking out of the machine.

Along the entire row, machines began to spit out bottled drinks. UCC coffee with milk. Pocari Sweat. Green tea. Apple soda. Pepsi Ice Cucumber…

Tatsumi stared for a second, and then turned. "Sato." A little twinge went through him as he realized how much faster Sato found them this time.

Sato leaned against a machine casually, the way he would back in his old sprawling house as if it were nothing more than a convenient pillar or doorway, looking oddly out of place among the glowing neon signs. "I see you're thirsty." A machine nearby spat out a green plastic bottle, and Sato leaned down to pick it up, looking it over.

Tatsumi shook his head and began collecting drinks, putting them into knotted furoshiki, indigo with a white geometric print . "I could have just paid for this. You didn't have to do that."

Sato shrugged. "You didn't want to pay for it. You never want to pay. And the machines aren't hard to manipulate."

Tatsumi's mouth quirked in the edge of a smile. "Even still…"

"It's just drinks. If this is the worst thing I do today…so much the better." Sato's pale eyes betrayed nothing but calm. He opened the bottle and took a curious sip, long sleeve folded back as though he was drinking tea. "I will never understand why anyone would want to drink anything cold…"

"If you wanted a hot drink, you should have gotten one from the machines over there." Tatsumi pointed. "It's not like you can't read."

"I can't." Sato looked amused. "But you knew that."

Tatsumi stifled a chuckle. "Oh yes. I forgot. Instead of asking someone to read for you, you just do this. Drinks Roulette, right? I saw you do this once before."

Sato smiled faintly. "I just go by what feels interesting. Or heavy. Or…well, one of each kind works too." He stared at his drink for a long moment, as if weighing his thoughts. When he looked up at Tatsumi, his eyes were sharp in the low light.

Tatsumi could feel the rapport between them disappear, draining away as the weight of their responsibilities settled over them.

"Tatsumi. You shouldn't have brought him here."

"I know. But there was nowhere else."

"Tatsumi, there are millions of people in this city. Thousands just in these few blocks. If that shikigami gets loose, a lot of people are going to die."

"Don't you think I know that?" Tatsumi's fists clenched tight. "I just need a little time. I think Tsuzuki-san and I can fix this. But if we go back to Meifu as things are…"

"Then you'd have to face Enma." Calmly, almost too calmly.

"It's easy for you to say it so casually. You're not the one that has to accept the consequences."

"I'm not?" Sato finished the drink and dropped the bottle absently. With a frown, Tatsumi picked it up with the edge of a shadow, dropping it into a waste bin. It crushed itself on the way in. "Like I said, Tatsumi, if this is the worst thing I do today..."

"Then you're willing to walk right in there and kill that boy?"

"I do what I have to. But I'd rather not kill him."

"I find that difficult to believe, Sato. I can't…imagine that every Shinigami you retrieved has basically destroyed themselves with no help from you. You can't tell me every single Shikigami wants to eat its owner alive."

"I don't care what you imagine, and I don't care if you don't trust me. This is just what I have to do." Calm and collected, and more than just a little annoying.

"You're a monster."

"What?" Sato looked bewildered, and Tatsumi felt a little thrill of victory at having cracked his composure.

Tatsumi could feel the anger welling in him, and the machines began to wobble as their shadows trembled. "I know the things you've done. Don't you even care why I stopped being your student?"

"But you were ready. You didn't need me..."

"Then…why I stopped being your friend."

"I -" Sato looked pale in the sickly blue-green glow of the machines.

"You…you're a murderer. I know. I looked into it. You've killed more partners than you've hunted runaways. Half…half your partners. Even the first one who trained you. The-the one who was your friend. That woman who left those diaries in your house…"

"You don't understand-" Sato's eyes were cold again, devoid of expression.

"Don't try to justify yourself, you…" Tatsumi could feel something snap inside of him, and the machines began trembling so hard that their internal loads of cans and bottles began to rattle, clinking against plastic and steel and tin and aluminum… "You murderer. Everyone…everyone knew it except me. And, and-"

"So you think…that I have no feeling except for duty? And that…I'm a monster?"

"Yes. That's…exactly how I think. But that's the least of it" Tatsumi's jaw tightened. "Whatever excuses you might have for what you've done in the past in the name of duty or your own sick reasons, I won't let Kurosaki-kun be another one of them."

Sato drew a long, slow breath, his hand moving in a calming gesture. Slowly, the drink machines wobbled to a halt. "The ribbon has another two hours of life to it. Once it's done, that boy's shikigami will lose its containment. Whatever happens, I have to stop it. With my life. Or his."

"That won't be necessary. I can handle things from here."

"Good night, Tatsumi."

"You can't just leave!" Tatsumi could feel the fear welling up inside him. If Sato found him, it would only be a matter of minutes before he found Hisoka, before he found Tsuzuki. And what he'd do...

Blood, and the splatter of organs. Limbs, sliced through by slivers of shadows, past the ability to heal, to pull together, even as they tried. Tatsumi had seen it once before, and it was too much then. But to put a face…a beloved face to that…

A sick feeling ran through him, filling him with horror.

"I can." Sato closed his eyes, arms folded across his chest. "Don't try to stop me."

But before Sato could move, before he could teleport out…Tatsumi caught the edge of his ankle in a swirling pool of shadow, dropping him into the shadow dimension.

"Two hours." With a snap of his wrist, he shut the gate, trapping Sato in.

* * *

Author's notes:

A furoshiki is the traditional answer to the shopping bag. Tatsumi's either environmentally aware, old-fashioned, or a cheapass. Feel free to pick one or more.

Thanks to RubyD for all the help in beta-ing. She's the awesomest.

* * *

Omake!

Sato looked over the can, turning it in his hands. "This drink...is made from crabs?"

Tatsumi raised a skeptical eyebrow.

"See? There's a picture of a crab on it." Sato pointed it out. "So it's made from crabs, right?"

"Uh ..."

"By crabs? For crabs?" Sato gave the pink can a tentative shake, and then tossed it to Tatsumi. "I'll never understand the modern world."

Tatsumi peered at the label. "Um, Sato. This…is uh. Hello Kitty..."


	7. Chapter 7

When Hisoka woke up, he found himself walking through an empty street.

It was like a dream. Steam came up through the grates, wreathing the street in smoke. Neon signs melted, lights swimming in the dark like deep sea fish. And then his sneakered foot splashed through a puddle, and the cold water soaking through his sock snapped him awake.

He didn't know why he was out here. It had been a long time since he had last sleep-walked.

And that was when he was still alive.

It wasn't a voice. But it was definitely a call, an unbreakable chain. A siren's song that pulled him forward even when he tried to make his feet stop.

He could feel it resonating inside him. A pulsing that ran along his entire body, a shiver of pain that crept into his bones.

By the time he realized what it was, it was too late.

Muraki.

On the back stoop of a free clinic, smoking a slightly crushed cigarette. His hair was disheveled, shorn close to his scalp, verging on spikiness. A pair of crumpled surgical gloves lay at his feet.

His sleeves were rolled up, splattered with tiny droplets of blood. Blood stained his arms up to his elbows, past where the gloves would have covered them.

Sweat had soaked through his button-up shirt, and he was shivering just a little.

"It's all right, doctor." An older woman, a matronly nurse in bloody scrubs came by to check on him, patting his shoulder.

"I'm fine."

Hisoka startled, hearing that familiar voice. But it sounded tired, defeated. Nothing like the monster he knew.

"You did all you could. He shouldn't have come here. He should have gone to a hospital. We're not equipped for emergency surgeries. Any reasonable person should know that…"

"Still, had someone called 119 when they saw him hit by a car. Perhaps he could have been saved." His eyes were flat and expressionless, lost in some internal reverie.

"It's nothing we can do. It's in god's hands, Dr. Muraki." The nurse patted his shoulder again, as if that would fix everything. "I'll go make you some coffee."

"Thank you. I'll take my break now, then." Still managing to sound calm and professional. It made Hisoka want to laugh.

After the nurse left, Muraki finished the cigarette slowly before dropping the butt, crushing it methodically with the toe of his shoe. He stood leaning against the railing of the stoop, as though something pained him.

Hisoka stared for a long moment, until Muraki's head turned and he craned his neck to see what Muraki was looking at.

A covered gurney was being rolled into an emergency vehicle. The lights didn't flash as it drove off.

Hisoka could feel the rage bubbling inside him. How…how dare Muraki stand around smoking, pretending to care. Pretending a person's death was the worst thing to happen to him today.

How dare he continue practicing medicine, after all he had done? After all the people he had killed. Hisoka had stopped counting years ago.

The black ribbon on his wrist began to smoke, its edges unraveling, crumbling into motes of energy as his anger mounted.

He could feel Kurikara, writhing to get out. Kurikara's anger fed his, and his fed Kurikara's. Like a serpent eating its own tail, he could feel everything grow sharper, more intense. A positive feedback loop that was quickly pushing him to the edge of his control.

He'd let his shikigami loose on Muraki. Let him get a taste of a fraction of the horror that he visited on everyone else.

He'd make Muraki scream. Scream until his throat was raw, scream until every drop of life was crushed out of his pathetic, human shell…

As if on cue, Muraki looked up, eyes scanning the shadows.

"Who's there?"

"Remember me?" Hisoka stepped forward into the weak security light of a nearby building, blond hair catching in the faint light.

A little spark in Muraki's eye, a flicker of interest. "Ah, boy. Or should I say…young man. If you're here for that homeless man, you'll have to go to the city morgue."

"I'm not here for him."

"Then you're certainly far too early. I know my fate." Muraki's hand pressed against his side. "Not everyone can boast that they've seen their death. But…it's not quite time for me."

"Then you're wrong."

"Fine. You have as much right…no, more. You have the most right, if I recall." Muraki smiled a little, a bitter twist of his lips. "Though I suppose the only people who have even more of right than you are certainly dead."

"I am dead." Hisoka shook all over, and he could feel Kurikara detaching himself.

The ribbon snapped and burst into particles of magic that dissipated into the air as though they never existed.

Muraki's pale eyes filled with fear. Flames reflected in them; Kurikara's cold flames.

The door behind him clicked open.

And Hisoka could feel a lurch of fear in his stomach, realizing that if Kurikara moved forward, it would kill whoever was behind him.

Eaten up. Burned up. Whatever the case.

"Do it, do it…they deserve it. Anyone who he knows. Anyone who helps him. Everyone who gets in your way…" Kurikara's breath whispered into the shell of his ear, and for a brief moment, less than the time it takes for the heart to contract, Hisoka believed him.

"No!" His hand moved in a convulsive gesture, and his fist tightened.

Sudden silence. The dripping of a drain pipe. The smooth whoosh of a car's tires as it passed somewhere nearby. The creak of the door as it opened all the way.

"Here, doctor." The nurse was back, and she offered him a chipped mug. "I made it the way you liked it, with two sugars and cream."

"Thank you, Enchi-san." But Muraki's eyes were fixed on Hisoka.

"Young man?" The nurse shook her head. "You had better not be bothering our doctor. He's had a tough night." She paused, looking him over. "A good boy like you should be home in bed."

"Yeah. Guess…I should."

"It's all right." Muraki's voice sounded hollow. Hisoka hadn't noticed it before, but wrinkles were beginning to etch on his face. Around his eyes, the side of his mouth. "Thank you for the coffee, Enchi-san. I'll drink it out here."

"Should I call the police?" She whispered sharply to him.

"No, it's quite all right. We…are old friends." Muraki's lips moved in the memory of a smile.

But when the nurse looked over to Hisoka again, he was gone.

*****

From the shadows, Hisoka watched Muraki drink his coffee. Saw the dark circles under the man's eyes. The stiff way he moved when knelt to tie his shoe, as if suffering from an old wound.

So here was the monster that had made his life a living hell. And the first years of his afterlife not much better. An aging man, tired and broken, stealing a brief moment of pleasure in coffee and cigarettes.

Hisoka tried to remember how many years it had been since he had last seen Muraki.

Once he had been a beautiful psychopath. A cunning strategist. A powerful sorcerer. A man who made them all dance to his tune for three years.

And he had burned out to a shell.

He looked at Muraki's face in the cold florescent light of the clinic, and tried to find a hint of the man he hated.

It was lost in weary eyes. The shape was still there, but the life behind it…

Hisoka reached out with his senses, careful, hesitant. He just wanted to know.

Muraki's mind was following the flow of his waiting patients, parents with sickly children, a stone-faced old woman who was white with pain. Cold coffee congealing on stained counters, the antiseptic stink of scrubbed linoleum.

The little worries of a little clinic in the bad part of town.

Sometime before the psychopath, there had been a doctor inside. And when the madness had burned away, only the doctor was left.

The malice was gone. The old charm, the old madness, ground down, the edges gone. The purpose lost. Not even a hint of its previous shape was left.

A sad stranger looked out from behind Muraki's mismatched eyes.

Hisoka sighed, pulling his senses away.

"I don't…need you anymore." He mouthed it to himself. "I don't…need…"

He pulled his jean jacket tight around his shoulders. It was almost dawn, and he should go home and face the consequences.

Hugging himself, Hisoka disappeared, the tug of reality around him warping for a moment before snapping straight again.

* * *

Author's Notes: Thanks to RubyD and Greekhoop for beta-ing.


	8. Chapter 8

His house looked different in the cold gray light before sunrise.

Everything was just as he left it; a half glass of water on the counter, a stale piece of toast peeking out of the top of the toaster. He smiled faintly to himself, remembering how he had run out of his house that morning, a lifetime ago it seemed, forgetting his breakfast in the excitement of going to Gensoukai.

"This place is pathetic." It was as though he could feel the words come out even before they were spoken. "You deserve better than this." Kurikara appeared, melting into existence like a strange dream. He looked around disdainfully, rich embroidered robes glowing with color, as though lit from an internal source. "It's dirty and small and..."

"And it's mine." His own voice sounded hollow, thin and forced.

"But you deserve a palace!"

"I think you...you've confused me with yourself." Hisoka said, remembering the ruined palace in the wasteland, scoured by a thousand, thousand centuries of wind and sand.

"Fine. Then I deserve a palace. And because you're a part of me now, you should too."

"Maybe I am a part of you. And maybe you think you can control me-" Hisoka ran his hands over the back of his kitchen chair, tracing his fingers along the straight, smooth grain of the wood.

"I can control you," Kurikara interrupted. "I can twist you up in ways that you couldn't even begin to understand…"

"I guess you've been right up until now. You sort of have been running the show." Hisoka looked up at him. "All this time, even when I respected Tsuzuki for the things he could do that were amazing, I could never understand how he could be powerful enough to have so many Shikigami. I mean…he is sort of a screw-up."

"And now you've surpassed him." Kurikara's lips twisted into a sneer. "I'm more powerful than any of his miserable weaklings."

"Actually." Hisoka met Kurikara's eyes, met his own bright green eye. "Now that I've had you for a few days, I think I have a lot more respect for Tsuzuki and what he does. And I won't give into you anymore. You might have my eye, but I'm not you and you're not me. You just don't understand that quite yet. I guess you're getting used to this just like I am."

Kurikara's eyes burned with in inner fire, dark and empty. "I know who I am," he hissed, and the sound felt as though it was going through Hisoka's bones, making the very marrow quiver.

Nervous despite himself, Hisoka nearly giggled. "You...you can't intimidate me. Because..."

"Because?" And Hisoka knew that the shikigami's next move was to show him just exactly how intimidating he could be. And when he felt how clear Kurkikara's thoughts were to him, he smiled brightly.

"What's so funny?"

"You." Hisoka laughed at Kurikara's look of befuddlement. "Remember? How...you took my eye? When we made the pact..."

"Of course. We were just talking about that." Hisoka could feel Kurikara grow suspicious.

"And you know about the two main kinds of shikigami, right? The parasitic and the summoned. But... You've never been anyone's shikigami. So you don't know what kind you would be. No one knows."

"I suppose that's true. So what! I'm still as powerful as I was before. Just watch me." Kurikara smiled, slow and lazy, growing mischief in his eyes. "You haven't clipped my wings, and you can't." Tendrils of dark power surrounded them, growing up from the floorboards beneath their feet.

"Are you so sure?" And Hisoka raised his hands in a motion of negation, and without meaning to, Kurikara's hand mirrored him and the magic disappeared.

"What...what did you do?!" Kurikara's voice went cold with fear.

"Nothing really. I've had time to think. Especially since I remembered how someone said how this situation was completely new to the records, and how usually no one loses a body part to a shikigami. It's usually the other way around. And then when we were out in that far away place, I realized how you were able to copycat me. And how you were able to make me summon you." Hisoka laughed. "Because you have a part of me. But you forgot about the kind of power I have. And how I'm more a part of you…than you are a part of me. So…I'm actually _your_ parasitic shinigami!"

"What?" The voice of the serpent again, hissing with fury.

"You're just my reflection right now."

"That's impossible! You're a liar! Just see what I can do-" As quickly as Kurikara's power expanded to fill the room, brightly enough to make the air shimmer, it went away as Hisoka made a gesture.

"Then it's the eye." Kurikara's expression was wild, and he raised a clawed finger to the bright green eye. "If I just take it out…"

"It's a shinigami's eye," Hisoka grinned. "Even if you did…it'd just regenerate. Remember the pact? You set the rules yourself; you can't complain because you didn't think it through."

"You…you brat!"

"That would be me." Hisoka laughed. "Now…try to calm down, all right? I have important things I have to do today, and you're wearing me out."

"This isn't the last you've heard of me! I'll…I'll figure something out! You haven't won! You'll never win!" The shikigami was so indignant that Hisoka could barely stifle his giggles.

"Fine, fine. So why don't you go away and think about it then?" And before Kurikara could protest, Hisoka banished him with a flick of his fingers.

He sat down heavily on a chair. "One down..."

*****

Tatsumi's eyelids creased as sunlight brightened the room.

"Nnn." Half-asleep, he pulled at a nearby shadow to shield his eyes and was surprised when the shadow pulled back.

"Sato-san." He blinked, eyes weary. Sato was leaning against the wall, stripped to the waist and damp with sweat, his hakama lost somewhere. He was still breathing hard, as if from some great physical exertion.

"Good morning." Sato's voice was flat, expressionless. "It was harder than I remember."

"What? What was harder?" Tatsumi took of his glasses, pinching the bridge of his nose, trying to wake up. He yawned, looking at his watch; it was just barely past six in the morning.

"Finding my way out of your shadow dimension."

"Oh." Tatsumi looked up at him, remembering the night before in a sudden burst. "Oh…!"

"Huh?" Tsuzuki half-sat up. "What's going…on?" The last word was almost lost in a yawn, and before anyone could answer him, he laid back down, curling up in the blankets, falling fast asleep.

Sato frowned. "It took me up until a few minutes ago to get out. I suppose that would mean three or four hours."

"Well..." Tatsumi took a moment to wipe his glasses, buying time as he thought of what to say next. "It was the right thing to do. It was worth it."

"Was it? Then where's the boy?"

"Right here of course…"

It took him a long moment to realize Hisoka was missing. Panicked, Tatsumi leapt to his feet. "Where is he? What did you do to him?!"

At the noise, Tsuzuki fell out of bed in a tangle of blankets. "What? I'm ready! I'm awake! I…Hisoka!" The two stared blearily at the empty space on the bed, as if Hisoka would somehow spontaneously appear.

Sato straightened himself stiffly. "I don't like how you think it's always my fault."

"You're the one who's a Shinigami hunter." Tatsumi glared at him over his glasses. "Now tell me where he is."

"Back in Meifu," Sato was calm, almost frustratingly so. "Of his own will, as far as I can tell. I had nothing to do with it."

"Fine. Then you're coming with us. Tsuzuki, get your shoes on, we're going." Tatsumi snapped, straightening his tie and running his hand through his hair, hoping it hadn't mussed when he fell asleep in the overstuffed hotel chaise.

"I would appreciate transportation." Sato sounded almost sarcastic, and it surprised Tatsumi, enough so to really take notice of Sato.

He looked gaunt. He was always on the thin side, but it was as if something had eaten up all the reserves in his body.

The shadow dimension. Tatsumi felt a flutter of guilt dance in the pit of his stomach. "Sato, I-"

"Don't apologize." Sato looked away, and for a moment, Tatsumi was surprised at how perceptive Sato could be sometimes. "Let's go." He caught Tatsumi's wrist in a firm grip, long fingers pale against the smooth fabric of Tatsumi's brown suit.

Tatsumi lightly covered Sato's hand with his free hand. "We'll talk about this later, I promise."

Sato said nothing, but looked at Tatsumi thoughtfully from the corner of his eye.

"I'm ready!" Tsuzuki stumbled over, shoes in his hand and socks half-pulled up his ankles. "Let's go."

Tatsumi reached out for Tsuzuki, and the three of them disappeared down into a gathered vortex of shadows, leaving nothing but a few scattered cans of miscellaneous soft drinks behind.

*****

Hisoka washed and dressed carefully. There was nothing he could do about the dark shadows under his eyes, the hollowed cheeks from a few days of hunger. That he would take care of later, if there was a later.

He brushed his teeth, glad for the obscuring mist of condensation from the shower that obscured his reflection from himself.

He broke the old toast into crumbs for the sparrows outside his window, and made a new slice, with a scraping of jam and butter. The food tasted better than he remembered, whether it was because it seemed like a long time since he had eaten, or that it could be his last meal.

It had been a long time since he had worn the formal Shinigami uniform. The pleats felt stiff; he had never worn it long enough to wear it in. Just for the occasional archery contest. He hadn't even been here long enough to participate in a formal ceremony; the next one would be in two year's time.

Before he left the house, Hisoka untied and retied his obi, because it was a little crooked.

The great hall was empty of its usual officials, but for the immortal guardians at the gate. He thought perhaps it would be closed, but then remembered how he had heard Enma's court never closed.

After all, the dead didn't need sleep.

Getting an audience was easy. Apparently, just his face was enough to get him quickly through the queue. So they were expecting him. It gave him a sickening twitch of fear.

Hisoka squared his shoulders. Though his stomach curdled cold with fear at the thought of facing Enma alone, it was nothing that he could depend on anyone else to do. Tsuzuki would gladly take the blame. Tatsumi would gladly give excuses. But there was only one right thing to do and that was to confront it.

After all…even Muraki managed to face his responsibilities.

The thought twisted the corner of Hisoka's mouth, as if biting down on a bitter fruit.

He stepped forward, woven sandals silent on the slick marble floor.

*****

There were a few frantic minutes while Tatsumi moved them around from place to place, trying to find Hisoka.

"Where could he be?!" Tatsumi growled to himself, after the second round of going between Hisoka's apartment and the department office.

"Did you want me to find him?" Sato's pale eyes glinted with amusement.

"No. I…I can do it myself." Tatsumi nearly blushed, embarrassed to remember that Hisoka could be tracked easily by his shadow.

There, the marker on Hisoka's shadow was sitting still, in the gardens just beyond the administration building.

"My goodness….I must be tired." Tatsumi murmured to himself, pinching the bridge of his nose above his glasses. He and Tsuzuki began walking past the rows of blooming sakura. Sato followed along, several feet behind them. "Not to remember such a basic thing…"

"It's been a long few days." Tsuzuki looked as though he were going to fall over from the nervous strain and fatigue.

They nearly walked past Hisoka without recognizing him, dressed in the formal black of the court.

"Hisoka!" Tsuzuki grabbed him by the shoulders, dragging him up into an embrace. "You're all right!"

"Yeah, I'm fine. Cut that out, you're embarrassing me." Hisoka sounded weary, and there was none of the usual vehemence in his voice. "I'm fine."

"What happened? Are you meeting with Enma soon? Is that why you're dressed like that? Or…" Tatsumi choked off the words, afraid of giving voice to his fears.

"Oh, Enma? I already met with him."

"Really? I didn't think he'd see anyone other than Konoe…" Tsuzuki looked confused.

"No, it was all right. They let me in right away. Apparently I'm the first Shinigami in a hundred years who ran away. And the first one to come back without a fight in twice that time. So…I sort of got a pardon."

"Sort of?" Tatsumi's mouth twisted in worry. "What do you mean?"

"Well. He said I can't work in block two anymore."

"…What?!" Tsuzuki's eyes widened with anguish. "You…you can't! I…Why…!"

"No wait, listen." Hisoka caught Tsuzuki's hand, squeezing them tightly. "He said I couldn't work there anymore, because he was making me head of block seven."

"Seven…?" Tsuzuki's eyes looked glassy.

"The worst block." Tatsumi pushed his glasses up. "It's the punishment block. Where the worst of the demon infestations happen. I don't think it's ever gone for more than three years without a major incident. And that's as long as we've had records."

"Yeah. Um. It's not going to be easy. So he said he wanted me to pick a senior Shinigami to be my guide. Preferably someone unattached. He gave me some names…You came up." Hisoka looked to Tatsumi and Sato. "And some retired Shinigami that he thought might take another chance at active duty. But, but I told him I didn't want anyone else. I wanted you."

"Me?" Tsuzuki looked bewildered. "Don't you mean him?" He pointed at Tatsumi.

"No, idiot. You." A tiny smile crossed Hisoka's lips. "You don't think I'd let you go anywhere by yourself? You can't even go to the corner market without getting hurt."

"Hey, that happened only once." Tsuzuki laughed a little.

"But…only if you want to. It's going to be a lot of hard work. And…we might see some ugly things." Hisoka ventured hesitantly. "So it's really up to you…"

"Of course, stupid. You don't think I'd let you go demon hunting without me watching your back? Remember that time you got drunk on half a glass of wine?"

"Hey! That was your fault!" Hisoka laughed, visibly relaxing. "And…don't think I won't get back at you for that."

They smiled at each other, conspiratorially.

"So that's it?" Tatsumi raised an eyebrow.

"Um, yeah, we're reporting for duty at the beginning of next week." Hisoka stared at his sandals and curled his toes. The morning breeze cut through the thin tabi, and his feet were cold. But inside he felt warm, full of life.

"I wonder who'll take over block two." Tatsumi murmured to himself. "Actually, I do have a question, Kurosaki-kun. Did you get to see what Enma looked like?"

"No. He was behind this big embroidered screen. I couldn't even see his shadow. But…" Hisoka tapped his chin thoughtfully. "He sort of sounded like Kurikara. Um, that is. Like a dragon. Weird hissing voice."

"I've heard that rumor before too." Tsuzuki said cautiously, glancing at Tatsumi. "Someone back in the day told me that the very old records used to call him the Great Dragon."

"I suppose we'll never know the truth of it." Tatsumi frowned, uncomfortable about speaking about it.

"There's an even older story than that." Sato spoke finally.

"Sato?" Tatsumi glanced back at him. "I didn't know you knew any stories about Enma."

"Only one. I heard it from an old Shinigami. When I was an initiate," Sato said, using the archaic term for a probationary Shinigami.

"What is it?"

Their voices lowered. Around them even the birds seemed to hush until there was nothing but the sound of wind rustling through the trees.

"He said there was a story that was passed down from a time before memory, that Enma was the oldest Shinigami. One whose parasitic Shikigami merged completely with him. Usually…when that starts to happen, they're sent off. Before they can cause harm." Sato frowned at an unpleasant memory. "But Enma is different. Sacred. He used some other words I don't remember."

"Huh." Hisoka leaned forward slightly, bending the grass beneath his toes, listening to the others discuss the truth of Sato's story. He thought of his eye, gleaming in Kurikara's face. It sent a shiver through him, and for a moment he wondered if someday he would be sent away if they found out how he controlled Kurikara…

"Are you all right, Hisoka?" Tsuzuki rested his hand lightly on his shoulder.

"Oh, nothing. Just tired." Hisoka smiled up at them hollowly.

*****

Shinigami, Shikigami. Parasitic, summoned. The words looped over and over in Hisoka's mind as he walked home, hands lost in the folds of his haori.

He shook his head. There was nothing he could do about it exhausted and hungry and cold. So instead he focused on walking home. Every step a step closer to a warm bed and long-needed rest.

It had rained in Meifu overnight, and morning had brought stiff chill breezes that made the ends of Hisoka's hair flutter, and made the heavy raw silk of his clothes feel too thin.

He walked carefully, bypassing broad puddles that reflected the sky and the flowery branches above, and for a moment he felt as though he was walking on clouds.

Just as he turned toward his apartment, he caught his reflection in a still pool of water.

It was so familiar to him that he paused to look back.

His face again. Mismatched green eyes. A muss of blond hair stirred by breeze and brightened by sun.

Something deep inside of him seemed to loosen, to melt away. A burden that he hadn't even consciously felt seemed to lift from him. Suddenly he realized he never looked like Muraki, could never be anything like him. The hatred he felt for Muraki would probably never leave him, not until after the final death. But the weight of it, the ache of it seemed to lighten.

"What are you so happy about?" His reflection asked, sullenly. Kurikara stared back at him with arms crossed over his chest, a pout on his lips.

"Nothing important," Hisoka replied, and he realized it was true.

* * *

Thanks to RubyD and Greekhoop for prereading and proofreading. Special thanks to RubyD (again!) because she's been my most helpful and most supportive friend through my YnM writing career. Without her invaluable insights, this fic (and the First Death) would have been a lot worse. This one's for you!

* * *

_  
So how did Sato learn about the differences between the different types of Shikigami? One story from a long time ago, before he found out about his shadow powers …_

"He's not suited to control a shikigami. He'll fail." A woman Shinigami, her hand cocked on her hip. She scowled, half-blinded by the burning sun.

"Well, I agree with you that he may not be suited, but I have faith in him. He seems sharp enough, in his own way." If one were to recognize him, it would be as a teacher of young Shinigami. One perhaps resigned to mentoring.

"He's a fool. He'll never manage." Mismatched eyes narrowed and the dark man folded his arms. "I've tested a thousand Shinigami. If he had any useful predisposition, we would have known it by now."

"Look, even an idiot could take down this shikigami. It doesn't even have feet!"

Sato edged closer and closer to the shikigami in the wild desert expanse of Gensoukai. The winds blew hot, dust gritted in the corners of his eyes. He could taste it; it made him cough.

"Sato! Use the sword!" The mentor shouted words of encouragement. "Come on, just like I told you. Draw it out and slice, slice! Upper cut! Upper cut!"

Sato edged closer and sat down before the shikigami.

"Oh, he's going to blow it. Just watch," the woman scoffed, rolling her eyes.

"No, hold up. I've never seen this tactic before…" The man with mismatched eyes raised an eyebrow. "Seems rather direct."

"You mean very stupid. I'm putting up a barrier ofuda." It crackled to life around the three Shinigami, pulsing slightly in the bright desert sun.

Curious, Sato reached out and touched the strange shikigami lightly, bending a spine up and down.

"Howd-eeee! That tickles!"

Sato touched another spine, putting a little pressure on it.

"N-no, wait! Stop! Bad touch! 10,000 Needle Attack!"

* * *

_And what happens when Kurikara discovers some other things that he has in common with Hisoka…?_

"Mommy!"

"No. You'll spoil your supper if you have candy right now. Come on."

Mommmmmmyyyy!!!"

Kurikara glared out from the reflection of a fountain. Will that damn Shinigami never move away from these miserable mortals? He fumed, something approaching a headache boiling behind his eyes.

"Mommy! I want it!" Grating, grating. Frustration boiled over as the child began to cry.

"WILL YOU SHUT UP BEFORE I EAT YOU?!" The voice of the dragon boomed through the park, sending flocks of pigeons scattering. Fear spiked and panicked, and Kurikara curled up into a little ball, covering his head…

"Ugh." Kurikara flopped down on a stone bench, hiding out from the world in Hisoka's memories. "This is miserable; I never thought a shikigami could suffer so much. Futsuno Mitama!"

"Yes, RyuOh-sama?" The sentient sword appeared before him. "What does my master require of me?"

"Tell me, Futsuno. Why is everything feel so, so sharp and clear? It's…it's as though the weight of the world follows me wherever I go. When people are happy, I'm cheerful. And when people are sad, I'm miserable! Like today for example."

"Today, RyuOh-sama?"

"My miserable Shinigami were eating ice cream. And I was pleased. But…then came a human child, throwing the worst tantrum. I would have slapped it stupid had I been its master, or perhaps eaten it with a side of rice. Yet…I only felt. Ill-at-ease. Wronged. It was foolish, a disgusting feeling. Threats only made it worse."

"Worse, RyuOh-sama?" The sword shifted uncomfortably. It wasn't like Kurikara to expose his feelings so rudely. But of course, things had changed since the Shinigami took charge…

"Worse. I felt." Kurikara made a face. "I felt pain. And then guilt and shame."

"Perhaps RyuOh-sama, it is spillover from your Shinigami's feelings? After all, he is an empath." The sword tried to slip away, before Kurikara would want to talk more about his feelings.

"Empath. Yes, of course. It must be a manifestation of his powers within me. Why didn't I think of that? And to think, I took this accursed eye…!" Kurikara moaned. "I was so stupid…! Why didn't you stop me? What did I do to deserve this?"

"Uh, RyuOh-sama?" The sword switched tactics. "Look, what I have here for you, a pint of Haagen-Dazs! It's cookie dough. And oh my, this month's Cosmo…"

"Ah yes, Cosmo." Kurikara settled down, the fires in his eyes dimming to a calm seethe. He took the magazine in his hands. "'How to tell if your man is a rapist.' Ah yes. This will do for now. Thank you, Futsuno Mitama."

"Yes, RyuOh-sama." And the sword slinked off as Kurikara dug into the ice cream with a spoon.

* * *

_Finally, one last look at the kagetsukai…_

They ate in silence, the sliding paper doors open to the chill night air. The house was empty and echoing, the way Tatsumi remembered. For a house that should have been as immortal as its owner, it seemed as though it was slowly decaying, falling into disrepair.

Dust stirred as a breeze blew in, making Tatsumi cough. He stifled it against the back of his wrist. He frowned, wondering how much it would cost to hire someone to clean the old rambling building.

Sato stirred the coals at the hearth with a stick, watching the last of the fish bones turn to ash. He draped an arm carelessly over his bent knee. "Thank you for bringing dinner."

"No, I owe you." Guilt twisted in his stomach, and Tatsumi's shoulders sagged a little. "I shouldn't have left you in there for so long."

Sato shrugged. "You did what you had to do."

"Are you mad at me?" Tatsumi glanced over at him, uncomfortable.

"I was. But…" Sato gestured absently. "If I kept the grudge, we couldn't be friends."

"How true." Tatsumi wondered at the simplicity. "But, don't you feel-"

"Feel what?"

"Well…I don't know. It seems to me as though you're dropping this awfully fast." Had their roles been reversed, Tatsumi thought, he would have been furious. It seemed unlike anyone to act this way. But then again, Sato had never been just anyone.

"Tatsumi." Sato turned to look at him, drawing his feet beneath him to sit formally, on his heels. "You did what you believed in. Right or wrong…you believed in it."

"Yes. So what of it?" It had seemed as natural as breathing to go after Kurosaki-kun. Even if it was against the rules, it was right. And even then…Tatsumi knew he had not really broken any rules, but had only bent them. Just a little bit.

"Perhaps believing is better than doing something just because you're told to do it." Sato rubbed his wrist absently. "Perhaps…following orders isn't always right."

"Perhaps? But it's what we're supposed to do." Tatsumi began seeing the scope of it, and for a moment he felt as though he understood Sato a little better. He tried to imagine if someone else had run, someone who wasn't Kurosaki-kun. Someone he didn't care about, someone who wasn't his friend. And suddenly things started to make sense. After all, Tatsumi himself had always said the rules were there for a reason…

"You weren't wrong. I am a murderer." Sato said softly, interrupting Tatsumi's thoughts. "At first I didn't understand what it meant to die. Not the final death. And then, after..." He stared at his hands. "And then it was just what I was told to do."

"You believe in your duty." Tatsumi sighed.

"I do as I'm told. I don't think of it as duty."

"But. Well, I can't fault you for your loyalty to the Shinigami."

Sato laughed, a short bitter sound. "You mean loyalty to Enma, which is different from loyalty to other Shinigami. The first is fear. The second I've never had much of."

"You've been loyal to me. You didn't try to stop me, even when you could. You could have fought me." The thought sent an uncomfortable twinge of fear through Tatsumi. He had never really fought Sato. Even at best the shadow dimension was little more than a prank, compared to what the shadow powers were capable of.

Sato looked at him, eyes expressionless. "Perhaps. But I wouldn't have won."

Uncomfortably, Tatsumi cleared his throat, pouring them both some tea. It felt strange to him to hear Sato speak of his powers, even after all these years. "Let's talk about something else. Tell me why you think the boy was spared for his powers. I really do believe it's because he did the right thing and took responsibility for his actions."

Sato shook his head. "It's just a matter of power. It's been declining in the Shinigami population for centuries. Even before I woke here. Who remembers the old days?"

"Konoe-kachou, I suppose? And you?" Tatsumi considered the options. The other denizens of Meifu, no matter how long they had been there, were unlikely to speak candidly to any Shinigami.

"Not as much as him. He was here long before I was. Look." Sato pointed.

Fireflies blinked, glowing in the long, overgrown grass of Sato's courtyard. In the distance, frogs called to each other, first a few and then a chorus. A cricket chirped; it sounded from inside the house. The moon rose, filling the room with cold light.

The fire crackled as they sat in silence. Above, the stars and moon turned slowly in the sky.

"What…was it we were talking about?" For a moment, he really had forgotten, before it began creeping back to him in parts and pieces.

"I don't remember." Sato gestured lazily, and a firefly whirled, turning in a long broad circle before flying toward them. He cupped it in his hands, watching the pulse of its glow, bright in the dark well of his hands.

"I don't remember either." Tatsumi smiled, straightening up. He recognized it for what it was; the little fictions and lies they all told each other and themselves to make life in Meifu bearable. He dusted off his trousers. "Good night, Sato."

"Good night." Sato didn't look up as the shadows swallowed Tatsumi.


End file.
